


your place in the family of things

by green_piggy



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (it's in the past and it's bulimia), 101 How Not To Cope With Grief, Alternate Universe - Body Swap, Angst, Anxiety, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Divergence - disregards Episode Prompto, Cats, Character Study, Crying, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, Finally, Finally finished, Flashbacks, Gen, Hopeful Ending, How Not To Be A Good Parent, How Not to Mourn, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, I think that's everything, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, LMAO, Major character death - Freeform, Multi, Nightmares, Physical Abuse, Post-Game, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Smoking, Vomiting, Xenophobia, at least there are cats!, bc theres no point in making people suffer, character tags to be added with new chapters as they become relevant, everything i touch becomes pain, fuck my ass this is slowburn, god do they need hugs, i hate everything, i really do promise, i wrote this as a joke, i'm never writing a multi-chaptered fic again, if they dont get some hope at the end, implied/referenced eating disorder, look i love iggy and prompto i promise, most of them are just to cover my bases, oh my fucking god look at all of these tags, probably should have tagged that sooner but They Get Bad, thank you all for being here, there's a lot of it, trigger warnings to be added with new chapters as they become relevant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2018-10-25 08:01:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 67,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10760094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_piggy/pseuds/green_piggy
Summary: “I do believe that we have… somehow, changed bodies.”Silence.“That,” Prompto said slowly, “would explain a lot.”Five months after the dawn, a bizarre monster forces Ignis and Prompto to switch bodies, along with confronting grief and traumas they had spent their entire lives attempting to ignore.





	1. you do not have to be good

**Author's Note:**

> *CLAPPING BABY HANDS TOGETHER* I! CAN'T! DO! SUMMARIES!  
> anyway yeah i've spent a month on this fucker and poured a lot of emotions into this. Into This. A Body Swap Fic. I Hate Myself Too.  
> there are probably tons of mistakes but this thing's 40k in total the first chapter is 14k i'm so tired i've proofread this god knows how many times.  
> i love prompto. did you know that. god i love him.  
> all of the meaty character study angst and crap happens in the next chapters, this one's just setting everything up lmao.  
> and a HUGE shout out to my chocohoes for encouraging me on this. you guys... really are the best...  
> enough rambling have the fic i love you

“Never seen _this_ guy before,” Prompto quipped.

“And I never will,” Ignis said dryly. “Care to explain?”

The crackle of a gunshot near his ears. Their target – a hunt that the two of them had taken on together, Gladio having made prior arrangements with his wife – made an odd squeal of a noise, like a rusty kettle being boiled one too many times.

“I dunno.” Prompto hummed. “It kinda looks like a… clown?”

Ignis raised his eyebrows. He ducked under the shot of heat that came towards him, leaving a warmth burning on the back of his neck, and pulled out his javelin from atop his back. “A _clown_?”

“If it had a tail. And scales.” Prompto paused. “H- _oly_ shit, it’s a clown snake!”

The mental image that popped into Ignis’s mind was so bizarre that he shook it out at once. “You’re not frightened of clowns, are you?”

Prompto’s laugh was quiet amongst the shuddering bangs of his guns. “Nah, believe it or not. Hard to be scared of something when you _are_ one.”

He frowned, but any words were cut off by another pop of fire. Ignis cartwheeled back, panting, crouching and listening to the grass for the smallest of rustles.

“Are you _certain_ that it’s not a daemon?”

“Positive!” Prompto squeaked. The roar of his machinery – a circular saw, from the sounds of it – deafened out any other noise. “Outta the way!”

Ignis jumped back again. A bright flash of light made his vision turn grey for the briefest of moments. “What was _that_?”

“Fire!” The grass shifted ahead of him—“Front of you!”

He didn’t need Prompto’s words; he stuck out, prideful when he felt the head of his javelin sink into soft flesh. He yanked it out and brought the javelin crashing down. The monster squealed as he smashed it, again and again, twirling himself with each swing.

“Nice one, Iggy!” Prompto whistled. Ignis felt a hand smack his shoulder as he jumped away from the squeaks and wails of the monster. “It’s on its last legs!” He paused. “I, uh, don’t think it has legs.”

“Are you absolutely _positive_ that it’s a not a daemon?” Ignis repeated. Try as he might, he couldn’t think of a single animal or monster that fitted Prompto’s rather vague description of whatever they were fighting. Not even the people who had issued the hunt knew what the monster had been called, only that it had been threatening schier turmeric supplies around Duscae.

“One hundred percent! It’s daylight hours, and, y’know, we kinda saved the world and stuff.” He could hear the grin in Prompto’s voice. “C’mon, let’s finish it off!”

The monster slithered away from them, nearly silent in the short grass.

“Huh?” Prompto said. “What’s it doin’?”

“I can’t be much help there, unfortunately.” Ignis kept his javelin in front of him, wary of an enemy he couldn’t see.

“It’s all—“ Prompto made a confused screak of a noise similar to a chocobo. “I have _no_ idea what it’s doing.”

“No idea at all?

“It’s like a… RPG, and it’s unleashing its dying move!” Prompto paused. “Uh, how about we finish it off before it does?”

Ignis grinned. “Indeed.”

Their attacks hit true, but it was in that exact moment, as the monster gave its dying howl and Ignis pulled his blade out, that it happened.

The taste of cooper grew thick in the air, on his tongue. Too strong to be blood, but surely the monster didn’t know any electric attacks..?

“The hell is _that_?” Prompto whispered.

The crackling grew louder. Ignis, with his free hand, reached out and tapped Prompto’s bicep.

“Is it dead?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet.

“I – I _think_ so?”

“Then we should move.” He could feel static gathering in his hair. When he stretched up his hand, he felt his hair stand even more on end than it did usually. “Is there – another monster, or..?”

“How about we just _run_?” Prompto squeaked.

They never had a chance. Before Ignis could blink, his head exploded with pain as his entire body tingled. He let out a gasp, collapsing to his knees, and heard a soft ‘thump’ beside him. Prompto was whimpering.

Ignis tried to open his mouth, to call out, to say something, _anything_ ¸ but his tongue felt swollen in his mouth. All that came out was a groan, and then all his senses faded to darkness.

* * *

 

Eventually, consciousness came back to Ignis. The early summer breeze ruffling the grass at his ear. The birdsong chirping in the air. The distant drone of a van driving on a main road far away.

Groaning, Ignis pushed his hands into the wet mud below him, wincing as his hands squelched and sank further in. He frowned at the mud squelching under his fingertips; he was _certain_ that he had been wearing full-fingered gloves…

Something jangled on his right wrist as he got onto his knees. He opened his eyes, squinting at the sudden light and glancing down at his hands. Far skinnier than he remembered; paler, too, from what little skin he could see, and had he _really_ been wearing those gloves..?

Realisation struck his heart faster than any bullet. He scrabbled onto his feet, tripping over himself, and stared at a world that he shouldn’t have been able to see.

He could see.

He could _see._

He stumbled back at the colours, the view, the _world_ that he could see in perfect detail. His heart was thudding too loudly, blood drowning out any other sound, and he held a shaking hand over his mouth when nausea crawled up his throat.

He didn’t dare question why. A part of him, a small, irrational part that he had never been able to shake, told him that he’d lose his new-found sight if he dared to question. Make the most of it, it told him. You don’t know when it’ll be gone.

He stepped forward, body somehow feeling too small for him, but he shoved aside the feeling. Heart hammering, he shut his eyes for less than a second and snapped them open again, and relief threatened to make him stumble on his wobbly legs. The world was just as bright as it had been before.

_He could see._

Through the canopy of trees to the east, the summer sun’s warm glow trickled through the leaves – and oh, how _green_ they were. Everywhere that Ignis glanced, he was greeted with lush, gorgeous green, the colour of summer awakening once more.

 _Gods,_ how he had missed that. He blinked away the stinging in his eyes, and continued to gaze.

Trees surrounded him on most sides, their thin, lanky branches draping long shadows along the damp mud and short grass. To the west, the sky was a brilliant blue, one that it strained his eyes to look at, but he couldn’t stop _staring_. He took a step forward, wordlessly, and inhaled. In the far distance, a huddle of hundlegs raised their tiny heads, staring at him before scuttling off into the shadows.

Taking in a shuddering breath, Ignis held a hand over his eyes and ducked his head. There were no words adequate to describe his feelings. He didn’t know _how_ to describe this overflow; how did you put it into words, seeing the world again when you had thought it long gone from your vision? How could you even begin to describe how incredible and joyous and _terrifying_ all of that was?

“Ow ow ow ow _owww_!” squealed a voice very much like his own. The sound was so _bizarre_ that he whirled around, foot bumping against the gun on the ground—

And came face-to-face with his own face.

Well, for a second or so, because then he – or _whoever_ this person in front of him was – was hissing and cursing to themself, hobbling about on one foot while gripping the other with his – their – hands.

Ignis blinked. He opened his mouth, shut it, tried to speak again.

“Did you turn the lights off or something somehow, Iggy?” came _his_ voice from _that_ body. Ignis blinked again, longer this time, and stared. “I can’t see a thing.”

While Ignis was struggling to get his vocal chords to communicate words, the person in front of him stopped, shaking out their leg with a lazy grin Ignis never imagined on his own face as they turned towards him.

Ignis winced at the – well, _hideous_ – scar that stretched over his right side of his face, concealed mostly by a sky-blue visor. It looked like a burn scar, a purplish pink that wasn’t immediately obvious against his skin, and his heart twisted as he looked over the rest of his face. A thin scar above his left eyebrow, another one dashed across his nose and bottom lip, and he watched his own lips drop from a smile into a frown. From underneath the shades, the only open eye gazed past him, the pupil milky.

 _Gods_ , he was ugly. He tore his gaze away at once.

“Iggy?”

He wasn’t in his own body. Not any longer. Ignis stretched out his hands, staring at the fingernails caked in mud, chewed down far too short, at the bitten skin either side of every nail, at the gloves that he only remembered seeing on one other person.

He looked up. As long as he didn’t focus on his own face, he’d be fine, and it wasn’t as though the other person could _see_ that he wasn’t looking at them.

“… _Prompto_?”

“Yeah,” came the immediate reply from Ignis’s body. “You mind turnin’ on the lights or something?” He grinned, but Ignis homed in on the tiny twitching at the edges, the way it did whenever he was nervous.

 _Gods_ , it was incredibly, how quickly these memories came rushing back to him with the gift of _sight_.

“Prompto,” Ignis said again, and it was only now that he noticed how different his voice sounded. More – not childish, but not as regal or as accented as his own. More natural. “I…”

Prompto stopped swaying on Ignis’s feet. “Yeah?” he said, hands tensing in front of his stomach over a belt buckle that wasn’t there.

Ignis’s hand twitched over his face on instinct. No glasses. “I do believe that we have… _somehow_ , changed bodies.”

Silence.

“ _That_ ,” Prompto said slowly, “would explain a lot.” He raised a hand to his nose, and jolted when his finger bumped against Ignis’s thick visor. “Like how I can’t… uh, see.”

“And how I can.”

“Wait, are you in _my_ body?” Prompto asked, voice tiny. “Oh, _Gods_ , Iggy, I am so so sorry.”

Ignis raised his eyebrows, but Prompto was already twisting away, stumbling on a tiny pebble as he turned and swung his arms out. The sight in front of him, of his _own_ body swaying his arms while whistling, made him blink. It felt like a peculiar dream, a world of strangeness that Ignis didn’t really mind.

“ _Soooooo_ ,” Prompto drawled in Ignis’s voice. He smacked his hands against his sides. “What do we do?”

“The monster that we were hunting did this, most likely.”

“Oh, yeah.” Prompto drummed his fingers on his legs. “Is it still there?”

Ignis twisted his neck around, searching. It didn’t take him long to spot the snake-like monster sprawled out in the soil, its body curled tight in a puddle of oil-like blood.

Indeed, it appeared very much like a daemon, but it was sunlight and the monster was not ash. Ignis squatted down in front of its face. He could understand Prompto’s description of it now; its ashen face was smeared with several markings, blood from other animals and details that made it appear very much like a clown. He prodded a blotch of blood on its cheek, and the beast did not move. Its scales were rough as he guided his finger down its neck.

“What a strange creature,” he murmured. Prompto made a noise of agreement.

“Well, didn’t Sania say that they’ve been seein’ lots of new monsters and animals ever since the Dawn?”

“They did.” Ignis stood up, wincing at the cracks and pops his knees made, and turned around to his friend. Even in another skin, even stretched on a face as ugly as his own, Prompto’s wide grin warmed his heart.

He never thought he’d see that smile again.

He never thought he’d _see_ again, end of.

And oh, _Gods_ , there was that stinging again, in both of his eyes. His lungs felt swollen, his chest too small as he tried to breathe. He dug his fingers into his eyeballs and exhaled, but the air caught in his throat and came out as an odd spluttering weep.

“Iggy?” Prompto asked, voice gentle. He took a very small, very slow, step forward. “You alright?”

 _I’m fine_ , was what he wanted to say, but all that came out was a pathetic whimper. At once, Prompto was stumbling towards him, until his sweeping hand smacked Ignis’s arm. His long fingers curled around the pale freckled skin of Prompto’s – well, Ignis’s – arm.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Prompto was whispering. “Must be something else, being able to see again, huh?”

That was _one_ way of putting it, Ignis thought. Certainly not how he would have put it, but now that he considered it, he didn’t think that there was _any_ words that could do it justice.

Prompto’s hand squeezed before slipping off. Then, he held his arms out awkwardly, a man’s poor attempt at offering comfort. “You, uh, wanna?”

Ignis didn’t speak, his throat clotted up with too many emotions to even begin to work his way past them all. Silence stretched thin, and right as Prompto started to lower his arms, gnawing on his lip, Ignis thought _‘to hell with it’_ and barrelled forward.

He wasn’t used to being the smaller one. He and Gladio had shared few hugs, even when they had been dating all those years ago (and _Gods_ , didn’t that feel like a lifetime ago). With Noct, they had had a fair few more, but mostly after a particularly bad nightmare or when they were too exhausted to care. Even then, Ignis had always been the taller one, wrapping his arms around Noct to try and protect him from the world, from the misery it had seemed hell-bent on piling onto them all.

(It hadn’t worked.)

A warm feeling nestled deep in his chest as Prompto’s arms squeezed his shoulders tight. “It’s okay, Iggy,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

The sun beat down on them as Ignis shook, overwhelmed by a world he never thought he’d see again.

* * *

 

The sun had long since crawled past its apex by the time Ignis had managed to get a grip on his emotions. Now, they were both settled on a large boulder, Prompto sitting down, his fingers gripping the edge hard enough that his gloves were wrinkle-free and drawn tight. Ignis was pacing back forth, frowning at how _exhausted_ Prompto’s boots felt on his feet. They felt ready to crumble apart any second.

“You need new shoes,” he said. Prompto hummed.

“I think that we should probably work out what to do about…” He waved a hand about vaguely. “… _This_ , before new shoes.”

He had a point. Ignis pursed his lips. “We should inform someone of what happened.”

Prompto grinned, tilting his head back to attempt to gaze up at Ignis. His right eye was staring directly at where the sun had nestled itself behind a nest of wispy clouds. “Gladio’s gonna be _so_ confused.”

“Indeed.” Ignis sighed. “Ah, well. It can’t be avoided.”

“If this… y’know, body swapping thing, is a status aliment, shouldn’t it have worn off by now?” Prompto frowned, and _that_ was an expression Ignis was used to seeing on his own face, if a decade older than he remembered. “I mean, we must have been out here for ages now.”

Ignis nodded. A part of him, a horrible, selfish part that he had never been able to get rid of, desperately hoped to stay like this for as long as possible. He _knew_ that, eventually, he’d have to give up his sight. To return to his own body.

But _Gods_ , he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to lose his sight for a second time. Somehow, knowing that it was inevitable made it ache even more.

“Prompto, my phone. Inside pocket, your left-hand side.”

“Wait, we’re gonna use _yours_? Gladio’ll have a heart attack on the spot.”

Ignis chucked his tongue. “A fair point.” Gladio wouldn’t let him get a word in if he heard Prompto’s voice over _Ignis’s_ phone; he would have their location confirmed and marching down towards them before any of them could get a word in edge-ways. “Where do you keep yours?”

Prompto shrugged. “Try the back pocket of my trousers?”

“How do you not know where your _phone_ is?” Ignis asked in disbelief as he dug his hand down the back pocket. He never thought he would be touching Prompto’s ass, not like this, but today had been a remarkably strange day.

“Look, I’ve got more important things to keep an eye on,” Prompto said, a hint of irritation in his voice.

Ignis stayed quiet. He fished out the phone, running his fingers around the chirped edges, the crack in the top left of the screen. There was something missing, and it took him several seconds to realise that it was the battered chocobo charm that Prompto had so proudly won in an arcade in Lestallum.

“Where is it?”

“Huh?”

“The chocobo charm you always had on it.” Ignis’s nail dug into the gap where the string was meant to be looped through. “Where is it?”

“Eh, doesn’t matter.”

“It _does_ ,” Ignis insisted. “You loved it—“

“It _really_ doesn’t matter,” Prompto snapped, his voice a hiss. “It was a stupid kid thing.” He crossed his arms stiffly over his chest, sighing deeply, shutting his eyes. “Just – call Gladio already, alright?”

Biting his lip, Ignis hit the lock button. A password-protected screen lit up, and the background image was of the four of them ten years, all cramped together in a tent, grinning, cheeks flushed and smiles wide.

If Ignis’s heart wasn’t aching before, it certainly was now. He stared at his own face grinning back at him, one arm slung over Noct’s shoulder, the other holding a flask of Ebony. No scars, no burns, nothing but innocence. He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

The others, too, were just as painful to see. Noct, smiling softly, his eyes narrowed with sleep, the blanket pulled up to his shoulders even as he was sitting upright. Gladio, his grin stretching his cheeks wide and his sole scar wider, his arm slung around both Ignis and Noct. And then – there was Prompto, beaming wide, laughter in his eyes as he stretched out his arm for the photo.

It was a reminder of happier times, back when all they had needed was each other. Gods, having this set as his lock screen, forced to see it every time he switched on his mobile… did Prompto _want_ to hurt himself?

That was one question Ignis didn’t want to know the answer to.

“Prompto,” he said, voice firm despite the pain in his throat, “I need your password.”

Prompto bristled. He stuck his hand out in a direction far away from where Ignis was standing. “Give it to me, I’ll type it in.”

“You can’t see,” Ignis said. “You’ll have to tell me it.”

“I _don’t_ —“

“My phone isn’t password locked,” he interrupted softly. “We can use that instead.”

“Well I can hardly make a call like this, can I?” Prompto said. He was gnawing on his lip, though, eye downcast. “…Noct.”

Ignis’s heart stopped. “ _What_?” His voice came out raspy.

“My password,” Prompto whispered. He was twisting his fingers together. “Capital ‘n’, a zero instead of the ‘o’.”

Nodding, throat too dry to speak, Ignis typed in the password and came to the home screen. He was surprised at how… _lifeless_ it was, especially given that it was Prompto’s phone. He used to nickname his many applications, like ‘STAB THINGS’ for King’s Knight, whose widget had taken up most of the home screen.

Now, all Ignis could see was that background image, of the four of them from an eternity ago, and two apps labelled ‘contacts’ and ‘messages’.

Something uncomfortable weighed heavy on his chest as he hit ‘contacts’. There weren’t as many as he would have expected; mostly names he recognised, and it didn’t take him long at all to find Gladio’s name.

“I’m calling him now,” Ignis announced, and hit the call button. Prompto nodded, slowly leaning back until his back brushed the boulder. He laid there, listless, as Ignis stood and waited for the dialling tone to end.

He picked up after two beeps. _“Everything alright_?” came Gladio’s low voice, with an inch of concern. _“You don’t usually call first.”_

Ignis bit his lip. Did he attempt to act like Prompto, or just simply go straight for it?

“It’s not Prompto speaking.”

 _“Huh?”_ He heard shuffling from the other end. _“Ain’t gonna lie, kid, sounds just like you.”_

“Have you…” He sighed. “Have you ever heard of a monster that can cause people to swap bodies?”

 _“Say what now?”_ There was a pause, then, just as Ignis made to speak: _“Wait, are you tellin’ me… that there’s some **stranger** inside Prompto’s body!?”_ His voice dropped. “ _If you’ve **hurt** him—“_

“It’s Ignis speaking.”

All at once, he heard Gladio relax on the other end, letting out a quiet sigh of relief. _“You **did** mention that you had a hunt today, didn’t ya?” _Another pause: “ _How the hell did you guys swap bodies?”_

“You’re taking this remarkably well.”

_“Ain’t gonna lie, it’s weird as hell hearing Prompto say such long words – wait. Is Prompto in **your** body?”_

“Indeed.”

_“So, he’s…”_

“At the moment, yes.”

_“…Ah.”_

Ignis glanced over to Prompto, who was staring at the ground. “…He seems to be coping well so far, if a bit quiet.”

 _“Yeah, can’t blame him.”_ More shuffling. _“So… what **did** you two get hit with?”_

“We thought that it was a status aliment, but… as you can hear, it has yet to wear off.”

 _“Well, uh. I’ve never heard of a monster that made people swap bodies before._ ”

“Apart from in the odd legend, neither have I.” Ignis tilted his head back, brushing away the coarse blond hair that fell over his right eye. “Any suggestions?”

_“Just, uh, come back to Insomnia. Claim your hunt. You did kill it, right?”_

“Indeed.”

 _“Cool.”_ Gladio exhaled. _“I think Sania’s in town. I can ring her up, see if she can help any.”_

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

_“You need a lift, or..?”_

“It’s only been ten years,” Ignis said, voice dry. “I’m certain I can manage a thirty-minute drive.”

_“Iggy, from where you should be, it’s about four hours.”_

“The roads are quiet this time of year.”

Gladio made a frustrated noise deep in his throat. “ _Look, I’m sure Lauren won’t mind pickin’ you guys up. She loves driving.”_ He laughed. _“Kinda has to, what with being a doctor and all, y’know?_ ”

Ignis glanced over to his silent companion. Prompto had his shoulders hunched, hands tight together, eye staring into a world of darkness.

 _Ignis_ would have preferred not to drive, true. In any other circumstances, perhaps he would have accepted the assistance. Lauren was a charming woman, after all, as quick with her tongue as she was with a broadsword, her mind sharper than any blade. It was evident why Gladio had married her.

But not today.

“I can drive. Thank you, Gladio.”

_“…Text me as soon as you get in, alright?”_

“I will.”

_“I mean it.”_

“See you in a bit.”

Gladio snorted. _“For once,”_ he murmured, voice warm. _“That’s gonna be true. See you soon.”_

Ignis hung up. Prompto was looking in his general direction, his gaze not quite where Ignis was standing. Putting his hands on his hips, Ignis shivered at the summer afternoon breeze that tickled his bare arms. He was _freezing_. What was with Prompto’s deeply-settled phobia of long sleeves? “We should get going. Do you remember where you parked the car?”

“Just at the Fallgrove parking area. We’re pretty close.”

Indeed, when Ignis turned around, the ruins of Costlemark Tower stared down at them from above. It cut an imposing figure in the daylight, but had held much worse horrors within it when its doors opened in darkness. A long dirt path meandered between the trees from the entrance of Costlemark Tower to the road. “Shall we be off, then?”

“Yeah,” Prompto said. His palms pushed against the boulder and he stood uncertainly, looking around. “I. Uh.”

Wordlessly, Ignis drew up to his side, resting a hand on his friend’s arm, watching the way he relaxed at once before stiffening again. “Shall I lead the way?”

“…If you don’t mind,” Prompto whispered, turning his head away. His words were thick with emotions that Ignis could understand all-too-well; shame, for requiring assistance despite _none_ of this being any of their faults, along with a heavy sense of _uselessness,_ of how it would be better if he had just been left behind.

He hadn’t been left behind, though, not even when things were at their most dire. And that was years ago, and _permanent_ , and this was a different situation completely. Prompto wasn’t useless, despite him being hell-bent in believing otherwise. He wouldn’t be blind forever. They would find the cause of this… _swap_ , and reverse it as soon as possible.

(He hoped that it wasn’t _that_ soon.)

“Why would I mind, when you had assisted me all of those years ago?”

Prompto laughed, the noise quiet. “I did a lot more getting in the way than assisting, let’s be honest.”

“Hardly. I would have been lost without you.” Ignis let his hand drop further down Prompto’s arm, scrunching the material of Ignis’s favourite shirt. “Now, let’s be off.”

* * *

 

“Goodness,” Ignis breathed as soon as the car came into view.

Behind him, Prompto stopped, confused – and then began to shake with laughter.

“You never…” Ignis squinted. “Surely that is _not_ our car.”

“ _Indeed_ ,” Prompto drawled, attempting to mimic Ignis’s voice, but it sounded far too stuffy and he did _not_ sound like that.

“Please don’t impersonate my voice while in my body.” Ignis blinked at the sheer oddness of that sentence. "The car is… it’s…”

“Isn’t she _beautiful_?” Prompto cooed.

“It looks like a chocobo’s arse.”

Prompto wasn’t even attempting to hold his laughter now, making a long giggle behind his hand. Hearing his laugh, which was a rare enough sound nowadays, in _Ignis’s_ voice was like listening to a behemoth purr.

“What in the name of Titan’s…” Ignis groaned, resting a hand on his face. “I refuse to drive that.”

“Look, bright yellow is _really_ noticeable in the dark.”

“You’ve been driving _that_ for ten years?” Ignis demanded.

“Only about four! Or three!” Prompto hummed. “Maybe five. I don’t know, kinda lost track of time after a while.”

“ _Still_ ,” Ignis said. “It’s… colourful.”

Prompto was too busy wheezing to answer. Huffing, Ignis yanked Prompto with more force than necessary, stopping when they were both in front of the car. He opened the passenger door, wincing at the long groan that the hinges gave, and went to the boot to dump their weapons. Slamming the back down, he made his way to the driver’s seat – _his_ seat.

He pulled the door open and stood there. He never thought he’d be able to drive again. He hadn’t _enjoyed_ it, not necessarily, but Gladio had never gotten his licence and flat-out refused to ever drive. Noct had been a good enough driver, and after Prompto crashed the Regalia on his first go he hadn’t been allowed back behind the wheels until after Noct was sucked into the Crystal, when there had been no choice. Ignis couldn’t drive, and Gladio refused to.

There was even a cup holder, occupied with a styrofoam cup of coffee that must have long since gone cold.

“Iggy?” Prompto called softly. He leaned over onto the driver seat, wincing at the handbrake that dug sharply into his stomach.

“Apologies,” he said, and forced his heavy limbs into the car. Grime and dirt had gathered tight in the corners, but the windscreen itself was surprisingly clean. Ignis glanced behind him, but the backseats were utterly bare save for a first-aid kit shoved underneath Ignis’s seat. If he squinted, he could see patches of dried blood on the cushions that were leaking fluff, remnants of their eternal struggle against the daemons during those ten long years.

“Key’s in the front pocket,” Prompto muttered. Ignis glanced over; he was resting his head on his crossed arms, staring out, body slumped away from Ignis. A position that he had seen Prompto take many times, but never in Ignis’s body. Goodness, the back of his shirt was _filthy,_ but a part of him was quietly smug at how well his styled hair looked.

Groaning, Prompto raised his head and made to take his glasses off—

“Don’t.” The word tore itself from Ignis’s throat before he could stop it. Prompto’s hand stopped in empty air, confusion written across his face. “Please.”

He couldn’t see himself like that. He _couldn’t._ He couldn’t bear to see the hideous face that his loved ones had to see daily.

Something like understanding came over Prompto’s only eye. “Sure,” he murmured, plodding his head back onto his arms with a quiet sigh.

Ignis reached into the front pocket of Prompto’s jacket, ignoring the rattle of an almost empty cigarette box and pulling out the keys. He shoved it into the ignition and turned, listening to the car splutter and purr as it had so many times before. It was the first time, though, and perhaps the last, that he would get to ever drive it.

Sighing, Ignis flashed on the indicator and checked the mirrors before pulling off.

It was frightening, in a sense, how quickly the memory of the roads came back to him. He could almost imagine Gladio reclining in the back, snoozing, with one of his god-awful romance novels on his chest, and Noct snoring quietly, hat pulled down low on his head.

When he turned his head, though, there was no one there. This wasn’t the Regalia, not at all, and yet… he could imagine every crease in his charge’s shirt, the scrunched up jacket nestled behind his neck as he napped, the way Noct would spread his legs wide and rest his hands over his stomach. Ignis’s heart twisted further with every detail his mind supplied, the details he had forgotten about until now.

Prompto made a confused noise, raising his head.

“It’s nothing,” Ignis said. The road opened up from the clustered forests of Duscae to Leide’s familiar open skies, sheer cliffs surrounding the road. When they drove into the Longwythe rest area and Ignis asked if he wanted to stop at the motel, Prompto bit his lip hard enough to make blood swell.

A no, then, Ignis thought, and continued to drive.

“Do you want the radio on?” he asked.

Prompto shook his head.

The rest of their journey was in silence. When Ignis was waved through Insomnia’s security, having been given several condescending and disgusted glances when they thought he hadn’t been looking, it felt like he was returning home.

Indeed, the car park Ignis had been searching for was exactly where he thought he would be. He pulled in, his heart threatening to overflow with a myriad of emotions. He hadn’t seen Insomnia for ten years, if not longer, and even as the rebuilding effort was hard at work, _so little_ had changed.

Sighing, he turned off the car and texted Gladio. He was pocketing the key when Prompto’s screen flashed up; if he hadn’t been looking at it, he would have missed the notification altogether. Prompto was making a mighty fuss while getting out, banging his head off the roof several times and hissing. He shut the door, only to get the sleeve of his shirt caught in it, and hissed out a curse as he yanked the door open again before slamming it shut.

_“at kenny’s send u a pic with directions”_

A minute later, a picture popped up onto his phone. It was an area Ignis was familiar with, and the sheer fact that despite everything, despite Niflheim, despite the end of the _world_ , Insomnia had changed so little made Ignis’s heart ached.

“We have directions,” he announced, and waited for Prompto to turn to face him. “I’ll lead the way. Shall we be off?”

“...Sure."

* * *

 

As they weaved through Insomnia’s streets, through the crowds of people slowly attempting to rebuild their lives, Ignis kept a close eye on Prompto. It was remarkable, how quickly he was adapting, how he stepped out of the way of incoming people and managed to avoid walking into any corners or lampposts. If anything, he was less clumsy than what he was with _vision_. Maybe it was his body that made him so accident-prone, but then again, Ignis had yet to—

His head smacked off an overhanging flower basket with a loud ‘clang’. He hissed, letting go of Prompto’s arm and rubbing his head.

“You alright!?” came Prompto’s panicked voice.

“ _Fine_ ,” Ignis hissed. That spot would certainly bruise. He grabbed Prompto’s wrist again. “Come, let’s go.”

It only took a few minutes until they had arrived, the sunset starting to drip down below behind the countless skyscrapers that littered Insomnia’s city centre. The scent of fast food wafted thick in the air, making Ignis’s stomach grumble.

He chanced a glance inside. Gladio and Sania were at a cubicle near the back, chatting to each other.

“Gladio and Sania are already in there,” Ignis told Prompto. “Are you okay to go in?”

“Course I am,” Prompto said, grinning, and even did a little whistle. “Let’s go and get our bodies back.”

The door chimed open as they went in. A life-sized plastic figure of Kenny the Crow was perched on the edge of the counter, its impossibly thin legs stretched far across the floor. A child squealed and giggled as they hid underneath it, between its legs and counter, then ran out past between Ignis’s legs as another child chased after them, their laughter ringing in the air.

Despite having been born into a world of darkness, those two children still had more of a childhood than what Ignis ever had. More of a childhood than what _any_ of them had probably had. Noct growing up to be the future king, born for the sole purpose of dying. Gladio’s entire childhood dedicated to protecting, to being the king’s shield in every sense of the word. And while he may have known little about Prompto’s own, he knew that he had all but raised himself; had no choice, what with having been adopted by parents that may as well not have existed.

He sighed, shaking himself out of his thoughts when Gladio caught their eye and stood. Sania was prodding at a soggy plate of chips.

“Gladio,” Ignis said. He had to crane his neck back to see the other man’s face, and it was a sharp reminder that he wasn’t in his own body.

It had to be Gladio. His face hadn’t changed much, not from what little Ignis could remember of him before. His eyes were haggard, and his cheeks drawn, but he _was_ thirty-three years of age. There was a smile in his eyes, one that he had rarely seen before, and his hair tumbled past his shoulders in waves of knots and curls.

Ten years ago, he had looked far too old for his years, carrying the bundle of protecting a life that couldn’t be saved. Now, he finally looked his age.

“ _Iggy_ ,” Gladio breathed. He rested a hand on each of Ignis’ shoulders, smile quirking. “You… look a bit different from what I last remember.”

“What can I say?” Ignis tried not to smile, he really did, but it was impossible not to. “I decided to go for a new look.”

“What, the tired chocobo’s ass look?”

“Hey!” Prompto said. He tried jabbing a finger towards Gladio’s chest, but only succeeded in poking the metal pole of their booth. There was a second of silence, then Prompto raised his finger and met his mark on his second attempt. “My hair looks _awesome_ , thank you very much!”

Gladio blinked, staring at Prompto as though he was a new man; and in a way, he was. He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “ _Shiiiit_ ,” he moaned. “This is weird.”

“How do you think it is for _us_?” Ignis said, his voice a bit sharper than he intended.

 _“Boys_ ,” droned Sania’s voice. She was chopping off the end of her chips with her knife, as small as humanly possible, feeding each individual block to a huddle of frogs in her coat pockets. “I have places to be, specimen to collect, and every second spent listening to you all squabble is a second wasted. Sit down.”

Gladio sat down next to her, grumbling something that sounded an awful lot like ‘fucking _frogs_ ’. Quietly, Ignis guided Prompto into a seat, removing his hand from his shoulder as soon as he was sitting. Having someone nanny your every movement, your every step and every breath could be suffocating. He didn’t want to do that to him, not to someone who had helped him so much so many times without ever expecting anything in return.

He squeezed in next to him and couldn’t understand the impossibly fond look in Gladio’s eyes as he looked at the two of them.

“You guys want anything?” Gladio offered.

“ _After_ I’m done here,” Sania said with a cough that quietened them all. “Good.” She thumbed another fragment of a deeply-fried chip towards the frogs in her pockets. Ignis watched, fascinated, as one of the rainbow coloured frogs stuck out its tongue and caught the food. “Now.” She stapled her fingers together. “Gladiolus here tells me that you boys ran into a bit of monster trouble. Care to explain?”

Ignis glanced over to Prompto and gave his leg a subtle nudge. He startled.

“Oh, uh, sure!” he squeaked. Ignis resisted the urge to thump his head against the table. “So, Iggy and I, we were doing a hunt because we needed the gil, y’know? It’s some monster no one’s actually _seen_ before…” he trailed. “…Dude, I was totally meant to get pictures. I forgot my camera.”

“Prompto, carry on,” Ignis said firmly.

“I didn’t get pictures,” he whispered.

“I’m sure there’s more than one in existence.”

“Well, that’s yet _another_ thing to add to my endless list of ‘reasons why I suck’!” Prompto chirped. Ignis frowned, and so did Gladio, but Prompto was rambling before either of them could speak: “Anyway, yeah. We killed it – that was easy enough – but then it used this…” He waved his hands about, the way he did whenever he got excited about a tale, and the gesture was so endearingly _Prompto_ that it made Ignis smile. Little moments like this, when Prompto seemed to forget all of his grief, all of his baggage that he refused to show to them, were the moments that Ignis treasured the most.

And now that he could _see_ them again… now that he could _see_ his smile instead of merely hearing it…

“I don’t know _what_ it used,” Prompto continued. “A weird attack I’ve never seen before. We killed it, and then next thing I know? I’ve been knocked out.” He hummed thoughtfully. “And… well, when I woke up, I was in Iggy’s body.”

“I research the biology of the natural world, boys, not humans,” Sania drawled, but her eyes were sparkling with the excitement of an unsolved mystery. Her hair had gone grey, but still hung in sharp curls from under a gigantic rain coat hood. A red frog’s head popped out of the breast pocket in her coat and gave a mournful, riveting croak. “Yeah, me too,” she murmured, patting its head.

Ignis swallowed.

Her huge glasses were slick with rain as she glanced at him, then to the shuffling Prompto. “ _Still_. Quite the pickle you two’ve gone and gotten yourselves into, eh?” She waggled her finger at them. “Ain’t seen nothin’ like this ever before.”

“Nothing at all?” Prompto asked. “You’ve _never_ seen a body swap before?”

“If I had, honey, trust me; I’d be writing all about it.” She tapped her fork against the edge of the table, listening to it make little ‘clang’ noises over and over. “You boys could be stuck like that for the rest of your lives.”

“I—“ Ignis blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“The rest of our _lives_?” Prompto repeated, looking – well, _terrified._ “We can’t stay like this until we die!”

“Look.” Gladio rested his fist on the table. “Iggy’s had to put up with being blind for a lot of his life. I’m sure you can live with being blind for a _bit_. There’s gotta be a cure.”

Ignis frowned. “Gladio—“

“That’s not the reason!” Prompto interrupted, hands clenching on the edge of the table. Ignis threw him a look, one of equal parts concern and surprise, watching as Prompto shrunk back and started to pick at his right wrist. His fingers stopped when they brushed empty skin. “That’s not the reason at _all_.”

“Then what _is_ the reason?”

Prompto stayed quiet. His fingers clenched over his right wrist.

“Regardless,” Ignis said. “Prompto is correct. We cannot spend the rest of our lives in bodies that do not belong to us.” He leaned forward on the table. “Ms. Yeagre, do you have any ideas at all?”

She snorted. “ _Please_ , just Sania.” She drummed her fingers again. “Honestly, boys? We’d need to grab another one of those monsters before we can start thinking about solutions.”

“No problem,” Gladio said immediately. “Me, Iris, Aranea, Cor, Monica; all of us, really, can send out a message for the hunters to keep an eye out for…” He frowned, trailing off. “ _Whatever_ it is was that you guys were hunting.”

“It looked like a snake with a clown face,” Prompto said. “Pretty big. Taller than me.”

“Most things are taller than you,” Ignis pointed out. Prompto made to elbow his side, but instead smacked it off the table with a resolving ‘bang’.

“ _Ouuuch_!”

 “A snake,” Gladio said, raising his bushy eyebrows very high, “with a _clown_ face.”

“…Yeah,” Prompto finished lamely, rubbing his bruised elbow.

“Sounds like something Iris would make up in her stories solely to add drama.”

“Well, it wasn’t really dangerous. Didn’t have any venom or anything.”

“But it _did_ have body swapping properties.” He dragged a hand over his face. “Like something out of a shitty story.”

“Well, _no one_ was expecting that,” Prompto grumbled.

“You two should stay in Insomnia until we get a new development on this,” Gladio stated, his sharp voice leaving no room for argument. Ignis agreed with him, whole-heartedly, but the thought of being ordered about by someone other than Noct made his teeth gash together.

“Why is that?”

A snort. “I don’t think Prompto’s gonna be hunting any time soon.” Gladio crossed his arms and leaned back in the cubicle seat. “And, no harm, but Prompto’s body’s waaaay different from yours. You’ll probably snap his arms if you tried any cartwheels.”

“I’m not thin,” Prompto muttered.

“Well, you sure as hell ain’t got muscle.”

Sania’s excited clap broke the tension between the two of them. “Goodness, this little body swap could lead to _so_ many developments!” She waved her fork at them. “If _anything_ unusual happens, anything at all, tell me at once! With as much detail as possible!”

“Like _what_?” Prompto asked.

“Where do I even _begin_?” She spread her hands out wide, the slime on her gloves glistening in the dull lighting overhead. “Do mental disorders transfer between bodies, or do they remain exclusively in the body? Do they affect your mind or body?”

Beside him, Ignis watched Prompto go pale. He didn’t get a chance to ask, however, as Sania was already chattering on.

“Oh, and physical disorders, too!” She tapped a finger to her chin. “And what about memories? Would you have only your own memories, or could you have access to the memories of the body you’re in? Could you _choose_ what memories? Would you be able to feel the same emotions that that person did in those very memories?”

“Uh,” Prompto said.

She leaned forward, raising her eyebrows with a grin. “Boys, why, you have _made_ my day! I could make a fortune from this!”

“We are hardly some _science_ experiments,” Ignis spat, but Sania waved an uncaring hand at him.

“Hush, honey, untwist your boxers. I know that. All I’m saying is that – with your full approval, of course – we could gather information that could have some serious effects in the future.”

The frogs in her pockets let out a simultaneous croak that made the few people in the diner all stare at them. She stood up, spraying her fingers wide on the table, leaning forward with a grin. Gladio was already standing to let her out. “Thank you, boys. Keep in touch now!” She wiggled her fingers at them in a farewell before walking out, humming a pleasant tune to herself. The sound of it only made Ignis’s heart drop.

The cubicle seat let out a sad-sounding sigh as Gladio sat down on it. He was far too large for it, his massive shoulders almost taking up the entirety of his side. He glanced over them, from Ignis to Prompto, and shut his eyes with a quiet sigh.

“Either of you guys up for food?”

“Not hungry,” Prompto mumbled.

“You haven’t eaten all day,” Ignis pointed out, not unkindly, but Prompto’s spine still bristled.

“I’m _not_ _hungry_.”

“You need to eat something,” Gladio insisted. “This place does a mean salad—“

The table rattled. “I don’t want to eat,” Prompto snarled, his voice low. His fists shook as he slid them off from the table, clenching them in his lap. “Okay? Just – drop it.”

“Tea, then.”

Ignis sighed. “He doesn’t—“

“I don’t _like_ tea,” Prompto snapped.

Gladio opened his mouth. Ignis shot him a pleading look, for him to have, _for once in his life_ , a tiny amount of tact.

“The hell’s your problem?” he demanded, and Ignis had to fight the growing urge to smack his head off the floor tiles.

Prompto startled.

“Gladio, don’t shout,” Ignis said. Gladio made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, but thankfully, kept his next words quiet.

“Iggy’s just lookin’ out for you. Besides, we’ve known each other for, what, thirteen years now? Longer than that, even.” Gladio leaned on the table. “If there’s something wrong, you can tell us. That’s all.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” Prompto said immediately. “I’m not hungry. That’s literally it.” His face twisted into a frown, and from the side he was sitting at, Ignis couldn’t see that awful scar, thank the Gods. “It’s been a long day, y’know? Iggy and I _switched_ bodies. Iggy’s got his sight back.”

“And you’ve lost yours,” Ignis pointed out.

Prompto shrugged, turning his face away from them both and resting his forehead against the window. Past the large glass window, the city centre was crowded with shoppers and locals, many of them beginning to pack away their wares for the night. The drills and noises of construction were a background sound that was easy to ignore. “Eh, it’s fine.”

Gladio’s phone chimed with a soft beep; the message tone of his wife. He was smiling even before he had taken the phone out, the face of a man very much still deeply in love.

Ignis wondered, briefly, and then not so briefly, if he would ever be like that. If he would ever find someone.

He glanced over to Prompto, watched him resting on the window, eyes shut, breathing slowly.

Probably not.

“Lauren’s home, I’m gonna head on.” Gladio stood up. “You guys are welcome to drop by if you want to. I’m cooking.”

“Not noodles, is it?” Ignis asked, smile wry. Gladio snorted, scratching his beard.

“Nah, not tonight. Just fish with pasta.”

“With all due respect, it would probably be best if we visited another night. We have a lot of things to get sorted tonight, what with this… change. Especially since we’ve yet to know how long we will be like this.”

Gladio scratched his nose, nodding. “Yeah, fair point. You need any help at all, give me a call. Hell, give _any_ of us a call; I know Iris and Monica are both in the city at the moment.”

“We will.” Ignis nodded. “Thank you, Gladio.”

Gladio nodded again, clearly distracted. His gaze sweep from Ignis to Prompto. “Uh… sorry, Prompto. For earlier.”

“Huh?” Prompto lifted his head. Ignis turned his own gaze away, least he accidentally see the reflection in the window. “Oh, you’re cool.” He grinned and winked. “Nothing to apologise for.”

Gladio _shuddered_. “Please never do that in Iggy’s body again,” he whispered. He was smiling under that shudder, though, before he turned around and left, whistling a quiet tune to himself.

The door clicked shut. As soon as it did, a waiter scuttled over to them, their boots squeaking against the mopped floor.

“Sorry,” they said, looking very small and very nervous. He was reminded of Prompto, for a sudden second. “But are you two, um, ordering, or..?”

“No, we were just going. Apologies for holding you back.”

“N-not at all! Thank you!” They hurried away as quickly as they had come.

As Ignis stood up to go, however, he felt Prompto’s hand latch around his wrist, successful on his first attempt. His lithe fingers easily dwarfed his tiny wrist.

“Can I.” Prompto looked to be visibly struggling for the words. “Can I… stay at yours? Just for tonight?”

“Of course.” Ignis couldn’t help the amusement in his voice. “You already spend most of your time at mine, after all.”

Prompto winced. “Sorry.”

“Why in the heavens are you apologising?”

Prompto shrugged. He got onto his feet and slowly let go of Ignis’s arm, who stepped out while keeping his gaze on him.

“Can you walk by yourself?”

“I’ll try,” Prompto said. “It’s, just – Iggy, how the hell did you do this?”

“With lots of experience,” he said drily. “Come, now, let’s move, before night falls.”

* * *

 

Ignis had never seen his own apartment before. The streets outside of it were the same ones that he used to walk as a child, when he was walking to and from his uncle’s home. He couldn’t see any hint of it; the residences that used to stand tall had been mostly destroyed in the invasion, and the council had reduced what little remained into a public park. It made his heart ache, his vain attempts to pinpoint the exact tree that grew where his uncle had once lived.

That was on one side of the street, though. On the other, was the apartment where he lived. He ran his fingers over the ‘15’ house number, the symbol glistening bright in its newness, and fished out Prompto’s keys. He had given both Gladio and Prompto a spare set of keys for his apartment, in case an emergency or accident were ever to occur. In return, he had copies of both of theirs, but Ignis had never needed to use either of them. Either Gladio or Lauren were always at their home, or they left their door unlocked, and the only person who had ever seen the inside of Prompto’s apartment was Prompto himself.

He pushed the key in and turned, creaking the door open. He attempted to slip off his shoes, remembering a second too late that they were Prompto’s boots, and almost fell on his face. His feet clattered against the wooden flooring as he staggered.

“Did you almost _fall_?” Prompto asked as Ignis crouched down and slid off the boots, wincing at how tightly they stuck to his legs. His voice was more than a little bit amused.

“I most certainly did not.”

“ _Sureee_.” Prompto slowly lowered himself down, stretching out his hands in front of him until he felt the flooring. He relaxed as soon as he did, easily settling himself onto his bottom before slipping off Ignis’ shoes. Ignis saw him wiggle out his toes in the very same socks Ignis had put on earlier.

Hmm. They were a navy colour. Prompto had assured him that they were _black_.

Hmmmm.

“They’re black,” Prompto said with a grin. “Okay? _Black_.”

“Navy,” Ignis insisted.

Prompto pushed himself onto his feet, not even stumbling. “Look,” he sang, prodding a finger into Ignis’s chest. Or, at least, he attempted to, but ended up squishing his poor nose. “Just because you can see at the moment doesn’t mean that you have to get all high and mighty about it.”

“Keep saying that, and I won’t cook dinner tonight.”

“Dude, we swapped bodies today! Forget about dinner!” Prompto stretched out his arms and smacked his hand off the way. He hissed, cradling it in his other hand. “Jeez, that hurt!”

“Watch where you’re going,” Ignis called as he walked into the kitchen area. There was silence, and he bit his lip, trying not to grin until—

“ _Ignis!”_

 _That_.

“What is it?”

“Just—“ Prompto flapped his hand at him, using the other one to guide him along the wall towards the sitting room. “Go and phone take-out!”

“Since you asked so politely? Of course.”

“I hate you!” Prompto wailed. Smiling, Ignis stepped into the kitchen proper.

It was a tiny area, significantly smaller than the one he remembered from his childhood. The walls were a faded orange – _orange_ – and chips came off when he ran his hand over the poor paint job. The tiles weren’t much better, many of them stained from fallen food and slipped drinks, although the sink was spotless and free of any dishes.

He opened the spices cupboard and just gazed at them all, each and every little bottle with its own unique head. Nutmeg, with a triangular head and cuboid-shaped neck. Clove, round headed, smooth necked. Ginger, with a four-sided neck and a cube for its head.

He closed the doors. He leaned against the counter and fished out his mobile to make the orders.

It didn’t take long, and when he put the phone down, he closed his eyes and exhaled. He wasn’t used to this. He was half-expecting everything to be darkness when he opened them again—

But it wasn’t. Past the tiny window over the sink, the sun had almost sunken completely, tainting the horizon a faint pink as the moon crept to life far above it. He saw vehicles go past, low hums in the silence of his apartment.

Speaking of silence…

“Prompto?” Ignis called, but he received no response. Sighing, he took a final look at the kitchen, at the cutlery hung up on the wall, organised by type, at the kitchen table littered with old newspapers, and swept into the living room.

Prompto had managed to get to the main sofa. He was lying down on it, his face buried into the cushions, scarred side facing Ignis. It was still so _bizarre,_ seeing his own body do things and say words that he himself would never say. He could only imagine what he must have looked like, him in Prompto’s body.

His fingers stilled on their way up to his nose.

He hadn’t seen Prompto’s face yet.

“Prompto?” he repeated, creeping his way further in, ignoring the unpleasantness curling in his chest. “Is everything well?”

Prompto’s head jolted up, blinking. He looked dazed as he turned towards Ignis, who very carefully kept his gaze away from… _that_.

“You order it?”

“Indeed.”

Prompto flashed him a thumbs-up groaning as he swung his legs off the sofa and slowly sat upright. “Cool,” he muttered. “Cool.” He ran a hand through Ignis’s mane of a hairstyle, which had become more frazzled as the day had gone on and now bore a less than charming resemblance to a chocobo’s own hairstyle. His fingers dropped down to the necklace on his chest.

 _The necklace_ , Ignis realised, and his blood ran cold. Feebly, his fingers grabbled at his own chest, and his heart plummeted with the crushing feeling that he had _lost_ something, even though it was sitting right in front of him.

He couldn’t make a big fuss out of it, no matter how important the necklace was to him. Even if it had been a gift from Regis for his eighteenth birthday, even if he had worn it daily ever since he had gotten it, there was little point in demanding it off Prompto. Prompto couldn’t take it off himself, to begin with, which would involve _Ignis_ having to take it off, and… it was too much hassle, too much of a big deal. Besides, they would return to their rightful bodies eventually.

He could handle a small time without it.

“Ignis?” Prompto called, his voice panicked. “You still there?”

He winced – how could he have _forgotten_? “Indeed,” he said, watching as Prompto immediately relaxed. “Apologies. I was lost in thought.”

“Hey, happens to us all.” Prompto waved a hand before flopping back, careful to avoid the arm of the sofa. “Can I… ask you for a favour?”

Sitting down on the edge of the sofa, careful to give Prompto space, Ignis nodded. “Of course you can.”

“Thanks. Just, uh…” Embarrassment was thick in his voice. “I wear contacts. Can’t read a lot without them, so, uh, you’re gonna have to take ‘em out.”

Ignis blinked, suddenly aware of the extra thickness in his eyes. Was that _it_? “I _have_ had experience with contacts, believe it or not. Just never chose to use them.” He could take pride in looking good with glasses. He knew he had, once upon a time, before Altissia.

Now? He couldn’t bear to look at himself.

“And, uh. Um.”

“Prompto.”

“My medicine’s in my apartment,” he blurted out, wringing his fingers atop of his chest. “So, uh, you’ll probably have to go and grab it, since I’m kinda unable to see right now.”

He seemed afraid, somehow, and very small in that moment, ducking his head away and lowering his eye. So very _Prompto_ , that Ignis would have recognised him no matter whose body he occupied.

He hadn’t really had much of a chance to look at himself, yet, to see just _how_ Prompto had changed over the ten years. Now, he was going to his apartment.

“No problem at all,” Ignis said, careful to keep his voice gentle. Prompto’s apartment was only about a fifteen minute walk from Ignis’s own. “Shall I go now?”

Prompto made a humming noise, his back still turned to Ignis. “How long did delivery say they’re gonna be?”

“Two hours, at the very minimum.”

Prompto let out a quiet laugh, back relaxing. “Go for it.”

Despite his words, Ignis lingered on the seat. He licked his lips, wincing at the sting of pain when it ran over a cut on the bottom left of his lip. “Will you be able to contact me if you need to?”

“You’ll be gone for, like, an hour at most.” Prompto didn’t move, but the self-depreciation in his voice was evident. “Even _I_ can look after myself for that long.”

Ignis scooted a little closer on the sofa. “We should switch our phones back, so that you have yours.”

Prompto waved a hand up for less than a second. “It’s _fine_ , seriously. Don’t go lookin’ through my stuff and we’re cool.”

“I won’t,” Ignis said, even as he wondered what was on Prompto’s phone to prompt him saying that to begin with. He tried to stamp out that seed of curiosity, knowing fully well that it wouldn’t leave unless he peeked – and he _wouldn’t_. He absolutely would not.

He stood. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Cool.”

“Do you need any drinks, or snacks, or—“

“Seriously, Iggy, get going,” Prompto said, his voice shaking with too-loud laughter that grated Ignis’s ears. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you get back.”

“I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

“Okay.”

“If _anything_ at all happens, phone me.”

“I will.”

He couldn’t think of anything else to say, even though a thousand thoughts were grappling in his mind at once. Sighing, Ignis stood up and listened to the coach squeak as he left it.

“Top drawer next to my bed,” Prompto said quietly. “There’s two boxes. Sorry.”

“For what?”

Prompto shrugged. _Everything_ , that single shrug said.

Maybe there was a reason why no one else had ever set foot inside his apartment. The one time Ignis had asked, when it had been the two of them standing on the balcony, freezing in the late autumn chill and engulfed by the scent of nicotine, Prompto had just laughed and said that he was used to living alone.

There was a difference between _living_ alone, as Ignis had chosen for himself, and living _alone._

“I’ll return soon,” he promised, heart quietly aching, and he closed the sitting room door behind him.

* * *

 

Prompto’s apartment bore a striking resemblance to the one from his childhood. A similar layout – one floor, interconnecting rooms, settled on the edge of the street. Ignis twisted the key in the front door and pushed it open to darkness. Squinting, he ran his hand along the wall until he bumped into a light switch and pushed it down.

Light spilled into the tiny hallway. It was tidy – _too_ tidy, the faint scent of cleaning fluid hanging in the air. He frowned, walking past the open kitchen door and down to the end of the hallway.

The door wasn’t locked, thankfully, but Ignis still had to swallow down the uncomfortable feeling in his nerves. Even though Prompto had _told_ him to come here, it hadn’t been out of choice; given the possibility, Ignis was quite certain that Prompto would have come here alone, even with his sight the way it was currently.

He knew that Prompto treasured his privacy fiercely, much more so than most people. And here Ignis was, hand on his bedroom door, the most personal room to any person with a house.

He opened it.

It was a tiny room, about half the size of Ignis’s own, and Ignis’s was nothing impressive to begin with. His attention immediately snapped to the photographs littering the walls.

There must have been _hundreds_ of them, countless pieces of paper that fluttered in the draft let in by the open window. Ignis walked over and pulled it shut, wincing at the rattle that echoed in the room. The curtains were tied back, so he let them be, and turned to the cabinet beside the bed. The bed creaked and groaned as he sat down on it, and he could feel a spring dig into his behind.

Before he opened the drawers, he couldn’t stop himself from looking over the photographs. He recognised a lot of them, locations and people from years ago, before the eternal darkness had fallen. As far as he knew, Prompto hadn’t taken a single photograph during those ten years.

There was Iris, grinning and flashing the peace sign with both of her hands; below her, Gladio and Noct kicking each other, their smiles betraying their true thoughts. Pinned next to them was a picture of the four of them at the lighthouse at Cape Caem, the sunrise shining gloriously behind them. Above all of them was a selfie between Noct and Prompto, both covered in grime and dirt and Prompto’s smile looking positively possessed as Noct gave him an amused look. There was Cindy, her arm thrown around her grandfather’s shoulders as she grinned and ignored the glare he was throwing her. Even Aranea appeared in a couple, one of her sitting down, another a close-up selfie with herself and Prompto.

Ignis’s fingers ghosted over one in particular, an irrational part of him terrified of ripping it or damaging it. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember when it had been taken, but here it was.

It was of himself, Noct, and Gladio. Noct was on the ground, bickering with Gladio, the latter wearing a huge grin on his face as he leaned in to shove Noct’s shoulder. Ignis himself was standing away from them, at the corner of the picture, a soft, impossibly fond smile in his eyes and on his lips.

His heart aching, Ignis drew his fingers away. As he continued to look over the pictures, of everyone and everything, from landscapes to monsters, to allies and enemies, Ignis couldn’t find a single one of Prompto by himself.

It made sense, a horrible amount of sense, and it only worsened the aching in Ignis’s heart. Sighing, he sat back onto the bed fully, eyes catching on the camera on top of the desk. The same one from all those years ago, chipped and haggard looking, but still the same. Ignis’s thumb ghosted over the top of the power button, but he yanked it away as though stuck by a flame. It wasn’t his place, to look at something so personal, so private without the owner’s permission.

Leaving it on the table, he pulled open the top drawer. It rattled as he did so, and he soon saw why. It was completely bare, save for two boxes of medication and a plastic tub with countless memory cards shoved inside. Each one had a year labelled on it. On a sheer whim, Ignis grabbed the one with ‘756’ on it and pushed it into his top pocket before taking out the medication.

He knew that Prompto had stomach medication, but to find another box..? They were different shapes, different brands, but perhaps Prompto had been forced to switch suppliers.

It wasn’t his place to look. Prompto’s apology, that near-silent ‘sorry’, was heavy in his mind. He grabbed both containers and made to leave. Before he did, though, he put the containers back down and made up Prompto’s bed, tucked the quilt in and fluffed up the pillows before shutting the door behind him.

The bathroom called, and it was directly opposite of him, so he headed on in. The door groaned under his touch. Toilet cleaning supplies were spread across much of the floor next to the toilet, a bristled-looking brush squeezed between them, and the sink held only the bare necessities; a tatty toothbrush, a twisted tube toothpaste, and a cracked mirror hanging above it.

Grappling with the unfamiliar belt buckle, Ignis did his business and went over to wash his hands. He peeled off the gloves with his teeth, stopping when he caught a glimpse of himself – of _Prompto’s_ face – in the mirror.

He stared.

The person staring back at him was the same wide-eyed Prompto that Ignis had seen countless times… at least, a much older version of him. Dropping the glove he had clenched in his teeth, Ignis leaned forward, that uncomfortable feeling in his stomach flipping as he moved closer.

His fingers brushed over the… _mess_ , on his chin. Dear Gods, that was an awful goatee. He squinted at it, running his fingers over its coarse surface.

 _Gods_. There were no razors out in plain view. He’d have to ask Gladio to shave it off when he next saw him. As much as he respected Prompto, now that he had seen just how… _bad_ it was.

Shuddering, Ignis withdrew his fingers and took a proper look at the rest of Prompto’s face.

The freckles had faded, although Ignis supposed that ten years without sunlight would do that to anyone’s skin. He closed his left eye and ran a finger over the redness there, rubbing the tender skin. Not _as_ red as what it used to be; on bad mornings, Prompto tended to look as though someone had punched his eyes repeatedly. The corner of his bottom lip was swollen slightly, and Ignis sighed. He hadn’t known that Prompto still bit his lip.

What _was_ there, though, and most certainly hadn’t been before, was the deep-set _exhaustion_. He had felt it in his bones earlier, but had done his best to ignore it. Impossible to ignore now, though, with the wrinkled, bruised bags that seemed to ring Prompto’s eyes. He trailed his finger down the lowest one, dragging it up over the crow’s feet at the edge of his eyes. Gladio certainly hadn’t looked this tired, and neither had Ignis, for the brief seconds he had glanced at his own face.

It wasn’t so much fatigue as it was the face of someone who had simply given up.

He lowered his hand, stopping when he heard bracelets clink against the ceramic sink. In the tiny gaps between them, illuminated by the flickering bathroom light, Ignis could see hints of black inked lines, the secret that Prompto had spent his entire life concealing.

He felt disconnected as his fingers pushed between the studded straps, until the barcode was in full view. He’d never seen it before; but he had, hadn’t he? It had been there, lurking, every single time that any of them looked at Prompto. How many times had Ignis’s eyes ghosted over that spot without a second thought?

Even as he let them fall again, he couldn’t avoid the tattoo. The bars and diamonds peered out at him amongst a criss-cross of thin cuts, most of them having scarred over. He didn’t think on them for too long, uncertain if his aching heart could take any more pain.

His right wrist didn’t hold all his secrets. There were also scars on Prompto’s right knuckles, small little cuts that looked years old. When he held his hand up, the knuckles looked red, but only a bit. Not enough to be noticeable, not unless you were looking closely enough. His other hand held none of the same scars; it was pale, heavily freckled, a perfectly ordinary hand.

Ignis snapped both gloves back on, giving his covered right wrist a final glance before heading out.

The walk back was silent, his brain muddled with countless thoughts that never led anywhere. No time had passed by the time he was back outside his own front door.

Inside, it was just as silent as it had been outside. He pulled off Prompto’s boots and called out to the silence. “Prompto?”

Nothing.

He couldn’t have gone far, Ignis _knew_ that, but his heart was still in his throat as he headed into the sitting room. What if Prompto had needed the bathroom and had tripped on the tiles, smashing his head open? What if he had tripped over something in the hallway and hurt himself too badly to speak? Ignis was used to blindness, to seeing nothing, but Prompto was not. What if he’d—

He flicked on the light switch, and all of those panicked thoughts vanished when he heard the curled-up lump on the sofa groan. His chest loosened with relief.

“Prompto?”

“Yo,” he said, trying to keep his voice light, but there was pain evident in his voice. Ignis’s frown deepened.

“Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” Prompto said immediately. “How long were you out for?”

“About an hour or so.”

Prompto let out a low hiss. “Cool.”

Ignis thought back to earlier. To the pains that he had suffered through, that had never really faded, but that he had simply grown used to. To Prompto, who had been pale-faced when he was leaning against the Kenny’s window, quieter than usual, unwilling to eat. Only now did Ignis realise that he hadn’t eaten because he wasn’t hungry. It was because he couldn’t _see_ , and there were few things more embarrassing than eating messier than a new-born babe in public.

“Prompto,” Ignis said, “if you’re in pain, tell me.”

His back stiffened. “I’m not—“

“I’ve been in that body for thirty-two years, and blind for ten of them. Don’t try to tell me that you’re not in pain.” Ignis had grown used to the aches, to the constant headaches, to the burning eyes, but he had ten years of doing so. Prompto hadn’t even had ten hours.

Prompto twisted his head so that he could look at Ignis from over his shoulder, although the motion was in vain. All Ignis could see was _that_ scar, somehow even worse looking in the apartment light. He forced his gaze away.

“I have painkillers,” Ignis said when it was evident that Prompto wasn’t going to speak. “Do you want some?”

“Did you—“

“I got your medicine, yes. Both of them.” Prompto’s shoulders tensed, as though he was anticipating a blow. “I didn’t look at them. It wasn’t my place to look.”

 _That,_ of all things, was what made Prompto sit up fully. From behind the glasses, in his single eye, there was a mixture of surprise and deep gratitude. “Thanks,” he whispered.

There was a knock on the door, swift and strong. Ignis excused himself and grabbed their meals. It didn’t take long to set up the cutlery; he had ordered the same meal for them both, daggerquill rice with chips on the side. He sprinkled in the painkiller powder in Prompto’s glass of water.

Ignis slid their plates onto the wooden coffee table that had been the bane of his leg’s existence for the first month or so he’d lived here. He glanced over to Prompto, who was slowly moving his hand along the table, searching for the fork and knife that was in Ignis’s hand. “Hold out your hand.”

Prompto shot him a look. It was a small sofa, not meant for more than one, so they were huddled close enough that Ignis could feel Prompto’s warmth. Their thighs brushed as Ignis stretched out to grab his plate.

Eventually, Prompto nodded and held out his hand. He was still wearing Ignis’s gloves.

“Do you not want to take them off?” Ignis asked.

“Well, they’re yours.”

“I’m not the one in my body right now,” Ignis said. He watched as Prompto sighed, yanking off the gloves and letting them fall onto the floor without a word before holding out his hand.

Ignis pressed the cutlery into his hands. It was bizarre, watching Prompto wrap _Ignis’s_ warm hands over Ignis. His fingers weren’t quite as skinny as Prompto’s, but then again, Ignis had seen skeletons with thicker fingers than Prompto’s own. Prompto had always had a low body temperature, despite his insistence on wearing no sleeves, and it was evident with just how _warm_ the other hand was on top of his.

Prompto pulled away, taking the fork and knife with him. Ignis clenched his fist around cold, empty air.

“Do you want assistance?” Ignis asked, but Prompto was shaking his head before he had finished speaking.

“I’ll be fine.” He took a deep breath through his nose, grinning. “Hey, green curry, right?”

“Your favourite, correct?”

Prompto startled, then his smile softened. “Course you’d remember that,” he murmured, voice warm with affection, and Ignis hadn’t time to speak before he was poking into his meal.

It was a companionable silence as they ate, the ones where you didn’t need to speak to be comfortable. Much to his credit, Prompto barely struggled with his meal, only jolting a few times when sauce would dribble down his sleeve or onto his foot.

By the time they had finished, it must have been almost midnight. Ignis stood, gathering their plates and dropping them off into the kitchen. Prompto was yawning when he returned, rubbing rapidly at his eyes.

“Time for bed?” Ignis asked. Prompto nodded.

“Yeah. Today’s been one hell of a day.”

“Indeed.” Understatement of the week, Ignis thought, but he remained leaning against the doorframe. “Do you require assistance?”

“Huh?” Prompto looked up at him. “Uh, what for? You can go to bed by yourself, can’t you?”

Ignis blinked.

“...I,” he began, slowly, “was under the impression that we would share a bed. It _is_ large enough to hold both of us.”

Ignis never thought he’d seen himself blush before, but today was proving to be a day of many discoveries. The blush was concentrated on his cheeks, bright patches of red as Prompto rubbed the back of his neck, Ignis’s necklace shuffling with the movement.

“W-well, I mean… I’m sure it’d be more comfortable than the sofa?” He gave an uneasy lopsided grin. “If you don’t mind?”

“Come now, why would I mind?”

Prompto shrugged. Ignis bit his cheek at the action; it seemed to be Prompto’s answer for a lot of questions today. How are you? A shrug. Is everything well? Another shrug. Are _you_ okay? The biggest shrug yet.

Not a yes, but not a no, neither. An answer for when everything was too much to explain in words.

“Ignis?” Prompto asked.

He shook his head, shifting his gaze away from Prompto’s face. “Apologies. Do you want help?”

Flapping a hand at him, Prompto used the other one to push himself off the sofa and onto his feet. His shin banged off the coffee table. “ _I’m fine_!” he squeaked, waving his hand. He flailed and yelped as he flopped back on the sofa with a thump, not hard enough to hurt. Ignis snorted before he could stop himself, and then Prompto was laughing too, teeth beaming wide and making little odd giggle noises that only Prompto ever made.

Then, it was as though reality hit him with a splash of cold water; he saw the scar over his eye, and glanced away, biting his lip.

Prompto heaved himself back onto his feet again, still smiling a little. The sudden silence was deafening. “You, uh. You _really_ sure you want me in the same bed as you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, uh, I was kinda thinkin’ that you’re probably sick of the sight of me,” Prompto muttered, rubbing his neck. His voice was light, but his head was turned well away from Ignis. “I mean, you’ve been stuck with me all day. You gotta have way better things to see.”

“Don’t speak such nonsense,” Ignis insisted. There were so many things wrong with those sentences that, truthfully, he didn’t know where to begin. “Come, let’s go.”

He went on ahead, careful to shove away any objects that could have threatened Prompto’s ability to walk down the hall even somewhat. He stopped outside his bedroom door, hand on the handle, when he realised that he had never seen his own room before.

Sighing, he twisted the handle and went in.

He had asked Gladio and Prompto to help with decorating, when he had first moved in, and before he knew it virtually everyone they knew had chipped in to help. The walls were the same gentle green that Ignis had carefully described to Gladio. The same green the Citadel gardens had been, where he and Noct had spent many afternoons skiving the latter’s classes. There, on the windowsill, were the artificial pot of flowers Iris had insisted on adding to give the room character. Sylleblossoms took up most of the outer rim, their long heads draping over the lime green vase, while sunflowers and gaillardias and countless other flowers were bundled tight together in the centre. It shouldn’t have looked as gorgeous as it did.

Outside, night had long since fallen. The curtains looked to be made from mesmenir fur, just as he had asked Cor, and he ran his fingers over the coarse material before turning. On the shelf above the bedside table, there laid an assortment of candles, each one with its own uniquely shaped container and scent. Aranea had tracked those down for him. _“Candles help me relax,”_ she had confessed, one night when it was the two of them on a hunt, _“otherwise I’d probably punch Biggs and Wedge.”_

He had been worried that the room was hideous, that other people told him lies to keep him happy, but it truly was a place he could call home.

Behind him, something ‘thumped’ into the doorframe.

“So close!” Prompto hissed.

“Are you quite alright?” Ignis called, turning around.

“Peachy!” Prompto’s voice was strangled. “Apart from my toes. _Ouucchh_ , those bad boys are definitely more red than peachy.”

Smiling to himself, Ignis laid out the bed and prepared himself for his nightly routine. He left both medicine boxes on Prompto’s side of the bed and brought in a glass of water, telling him where everything was, then retreated to the bathroom. He popped out Prompto’s contacts as he went, and truthfully, the world didn’t seem that different as he blinked the ache out of his eyes.

There was a subtle pain in his stomach, but it wasn’t anything worth paying attention to. He gurgled his toothpaste and did his nightly routines. Ten years of darkness had gotten him used to doing this by instinct, knowing where every item was, but there was something welcome about being able to see them. He watched the water splutter and swirl down the plughole. He rubbed the slimy soap around his hands, marvelling at the small bubbles popping on his skin. Rust and dirt shot out from the window handle as he pulled the window shut on his tip-toes. When he had opened it that morning, he hadn’t been able to see any of that, but he hadn’t needed to go onto the ends of his toes either.

He stepped back, clapping his hands together, stopping when he realised just how much skinnier he was in Prompto’s body than he was in his own. He stared at his arms, at his bare right wrist, at the red angry scars on his right knuckles, for what felt like forever.

Leaving the bathroom, he saw that Prompto sitting on the edge of the bed, the glass of water empty. One of the medicine boxes – the stomach pills – had been left untouched. He was pulling on a shirt, one of Ignis’s own, and as he raised his arms Ignis could see every last scar that he remembered on his own body. There was that voretooth bite, under his armpit, from the time he had shoved Gladio out of the way of an attack. The pale thin scar of an iron giant’s blade that stretched from his left breast to his right ribs. The large, zig-zagged scar on his stomach, from the time when he was six and had fallen down a child’s slide the wrong way.

Prompto pulled the shirt down with a yawn. He already had bottoms on.

Ignis pointed to the stomach pills, remembered a second too late, and spoke: “Did you not take your medicine?”

“Nah, savin’ the stomach one for you.” Prompto’s voice was concerned. “You haven’t, uh, had any pains, have you? They kinda come and go.”

“Only a mild one,” Ignis said. “Easy to ignore.”

Prompto made a noise, but he didn’t voice a disagreement. “Bathroom free?”

“Yes. Take as long as you need.”

“Thanks,” Prompto said, and he shuffled into the bathroom with the ease of someone who had used it many times before. The door clicked shut behind him.

Curiosity drove Ignis to look at the boxes. It would be easy, _so_ easy, to glance at them. Prompto wouldn’t know that he had looked.

He _would_ know, though, somehow. He always did have an uncanny sharpness, one that wasn’t obvious behind his seemingly easy smiles and simple words.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Ignis turned around and got into his side of the bed, listening for Prompto’s return.

It took longer than what he was comfortable with; he had almost dozed off when he heard the bathroom door slowly creak open. Soft footsteps thudded on the carpet, followed by a quiet yawn before the bed shifted behind him.

“Iggy?” Prompto asked, voice quiet.

Ignis’s chest relaxed. “I’m here,” he promised, and turned around as Prompto lifted the quilt to come in.

This arrangement was far from uncomfortable. They had shared beds Astrals knew how many times, during their journey and in the years after Noct’s disappearance into the Crystal. Ignis had become desensitised to the presence of others when he slept. He had to, otherwise he would have slept even less than what he already did.

Prompto yawned, curling in on himself and tucking his hands under his cheek. Ignis could feel his tiny breaths on his nose.

The scar didn’t look _as_ bad in the comfort of darkness, Ignis thought, staring at his face. In the dull lighting of the streets outside, it was only a slightly darker patch than the rest of Ignis’s skin. Prompto had taken the glasses off.

…He looked better in the darkness. The few lines he had under his eyes didn’t seem as harsh. His scattered scars were almost lost in his vision. The largest scar of them all was only a dark blob on his face, looking more like a misplaced shadow than a reminder of all he had sacrificed.

He wondered, briefly, and then not so briefly, about how his current face must have looked in that moment.

Would it be strange, if he was to touch his own face while another occupied his body? To feel every inch of his own scars, every wrinkle and every mole dotted on his face?

If he was being honest with himself, did he really want to touch his face, or did he want to touch the person behind it?

“Go to sleep, Iggy,” Prompto whispered, voice clogged with exhaustion. His milky eye was bright, reflecting the street lights outside.

Ignis did.

His dreams, however, were not his own.


	2. tell me about despair, yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis dreams of memories that were never his own. Prompto has... well. No one knows what Prompto is doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly??? was not??? expecting so many kudos and comments and views and subscriptions??? thank you all so so so much, seriously. you guys are the best.  
> btw i forgot to mention and i cant be assed doing basic af html rn but i have a twitter @greenpiggles so if you want to yell at me about how bad this chapter is free feel  
>  **disclaimer shit: there isn’t any deep reason for prompto’s parents both being female it just kinda happened. I’m gay myself. I’m not, _under any circumstances,_ saying that gay parents are bad/abusive parents. Prompto’s shitty parents just both happen to be female. That’s it. Don’t think anyone will attack me for a reason like this but im just covering my bases. **  
>  (if theres anything in canon that states that proms parents are a female and male, i’ll happily go and change the relevant sections. If not, then Yeah)  
> hope y'all enjoy. the real pain comes in the next chapter.

Ignis opened his eyes.

He was sitting down on a hardwood chair, his feet dangling quite a distance from the wooden flooring below. In front of him was a birthday cake, untouched, ten burnt out candles sitting on top of the sloppy icing. The room was draped in a quietly unhappy type of atmosphere, where the early sunset outside made everything look dark and forlorn and so terribly lonely.

He knew, immediately, that this had to be a dream. There was no other explanation, but yet it felt so very real.  His body moved on its own, but he could hear his shoes smacking against the chair legs, his fingers clenching his right wrist tightly enough to bruise.

There was shouting, an angry exchange between two female voices. Ignis glanced down at his wrist, and there were no words to describe his confusion when he saw a white sports wristband with a green stripe staring back at him. He had _never_ worn an item like that, not once.

“Prompto!” growled a low voice. “Are you even paying attention?”

“You can’t tell him this _now_ ,” hissed the other female voice. Ignis startled and looked up, heart hammering, to see a woman shove off the other’s hand. Her face was like a voretooth’s, snarling with narrowed eyes and furious breaths through her rattling teeth. She bore no resemblance to Prompto, not in facial structure or skin colour or body shape.

“He’s old enough to know—“

“It’s his birthday!” the second pleaded. Her face was softer, but her eyes were sunken thicken with sleep deprivation and her hands were nervous, twitching in front of her as though she didn’t know what to do. That much, at least, Prompto seemed to have in common with his ‘parents’. “At least save it for tomorrow.”

“Neither of us are gonna be here tomorrow. Or for the next month at least.”

“ _Almeta—“_ the second one hissed, a sudden determination in her voice as she tugged on the other’s arm.

Almeta shrugged her off, not as harshly as before. When her eyes fell on Prompto – and Ignis knew now that, somehow, he was experiencing Prompto’s memories – she just looked exhausted, her bags stark black against her dark skin. “Hyacinth, just let me do this.” She turned her head, her choppy bob cut hiding her eyes. “The sooner we tell him, the better.”

Silence.

The chair scrapped on the opposite end of the table as Almeta yanked it out. When she flopped onto it, her hefty frame, far more muscular than anything Prompto could aspire to be, made it groan. “Prompto,” she murmured, looking almost like a mother in that moment. “Look at me.”

He did.

“Give me your wrist.”

Eyes flickering down between the hands bundled tight in his shorts, Prompto held up his left one.

“The other one,” Almeta said, voice rough, exasperation thick in her voice.

Hand trembling, Prompto did so. Ignis had never experienced this moment, had never imagined _anything_ yet this, yet in his dreams every feeling was crystal clear. There was a pressure crushing his chest, one that he had felt only during the handful of panic attacks he had suffered as a teenager. It felt very much as though the world was ending when he held out his wrist.

Almeta took it, her calloused fingers arching under the wristband and tugging it off without permission. Ignis felt spiders crawl up his arm and clog in his throat as those now-familiar black lines stared at him.

There weren’t any scars or cuts around it. The only difference, really, between now and… whatever time this was.

“You don’t know what this means, do you?” Almeta asked softly. Prompto shook his head.

“Almeta,” Hyacinth pleaded. “ _Please_. Not today.”

Almeta didn’t take her eyes off Prompto. “He needs to know.”

Sighing, Hyacinth seemed to fold in on herself like her namesake, her long eyelashes casting longer shadows over her shallow-pale skin. She sunk into the chair next to her wife, not looking up.

“What do you know about it?” Almeta asked.

Ignis’s mouth opened, and he was surprised when he heard a high voice eerily like Prompto’s speak. “That it… that it shows that I’m not from here.”

“You’re not,” Almeta confirmed. Her thumb was rubbing circles over the barcode. Perhaps it was meant to be comforting, but all it did was make butterflies buzz in his stomach. “You’re from Niflheim.”

Beside her, Hyacinth winced.

“I know that,” Prompto said.

“Yeah, but you don’t know anything apart from that, right?” Almeta’s tone wasn’t one of a question; her eyes were steely, and Ignis’s stomach was dropping with the knowledge of hindsight. _Don’t tell him_ , he wanted to shout _, don’t tell him don’t—_

“No,” Prompto said quietly. He tried to pull his wrist away, but Almeta held firm.

“I’ll…” Almeta’s eyes flickered away towards her wife. The bronze on her ring finger glistened in the only overhead light. “I’ll be blunt.”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Hyacinth said, her mouth opening as she made to stand, hands spraying on the dusty table—

“You’re not human,” Almeta said. “Never have been, never will be.”

With a wordless _thud_ , Hyacinth dropped onto the seat, burying her face in her hands. “You didn’t have to put it like _that_ ,” she hissed between her fingers.

“Hyacinth was one of the people that helped make you,” Almeta continued, ignoring the way that Prompto’s world was ending. He squeezed his eyes shut, throat making an odd hiccupping noise as his world blurred in front of his glasses. When he forced his eyes open, stomach heaving, Almeta was staring at him with something a lot like pity. The burning in Prompto’s stomach worsened. “You’ve heard of magitek troopers, right?”

Somehow, Prompto managed to shake his head.

“Gods, you’re stupid,” Almeta bit out, turning her head away, and Ignis wanted very much to punch both her and the other woman who dared to claim to be Prompto’s ‘parents’. Biological or not, _human_ or not, no parents should have ever treated their children like this. “They’re humanoid weapons, basically.”

Hyacinth’s fist slammed the table. “They’re a _hell_ of a lot more complicated than that—“

“You really think he’s gonna get all of the science?” Almeta snorted. “Hell, _I_ don’t get it.”

“He _is_ human—“

“A thing popped out of a test tube and experimented on.” Almeta shrugged her wide shoulders. “Not very human-sounding to me.”

Hyacinth growled, her eyes flashing, but she didn’t say anything else. They seemed to have forgotten that Prompto existed.

There was a long silence before Almeta spoke.

“ _Anyway_.” She turned back to Prompto. “That stuff happened, then Hyacinth felt sorry for you and smuggled you out. I got you two here, close to my family. We adopted you, and you know the rest.”

“I’m not human?” Prompto whispered.

“ _That’s_ the part you’re worried about?” Almeta snapped. “I had to give up hunting to look after a brat of a kid I never asked for.”

“Sorry,” Prompto’s voice was quieter than a sigh. “Sorry.”

“Bit late for that—“

“ _Almeta_ ,” Hyacinth was standing now, her fists clenched at her sides. “ _Don’t_. You’re hunting now. Stop talking about him like – like _that_.” She thudded her tiny chest, over her chest. “Blame _me_. None of this was his fault.”

“Ain’t your fault that you’ve got a big heart,” she murmured, dragging a hand over her face.

“It isn’t Prompto’s either.”

Prompto tried to open his mouth, but all Ignis could feel was a suffocating weight, a thickness so heavy that he could barely breathe around it.

“Sorry,” Almeta said quickly, not sounding the least bit sincere as she pulled the wristband back over the barcode. She gave Prompto’s wrist a patronising little pat before letting go. “Don’t let anyone see that under _any_ circumstances, got it? I don’t think many people know what it means, but… you know what Lucis is like to outsiders. If anyone who _does_ know what it means sees that…”

Prompto nodded. He couldn’t speak. He pulled his wrist to his chest.

“I…” Hyacinth trailed off. She clutched her bare elbow with her hand. “I’m pretty sure people already know. That Prompto’s not from Insomnia, I mean.”

“Well, we don’t need to make it any worse.”

Almeta stood up, sighing. She didn’t look at Prompto as she plucked out the candles, one by one. The noise of them clattering onto the table echoed in the silence.

Hyacinth’s face was drawn taut, thin with exhaustion, but she didn’t speak a word.

“How about some cake?” Almeta asked.

“Not hungry,” Prompto whispered.

“Well, too bad. We went to all of the hassle of getting it for you, the least you can do is eat it.”

Prompto’s heart pounded in his chest. He nodded.

The world faded to black. Ignis woke up.

* * *

 

Through the darkness, Ignis could make out hints of sunlight streaming through the fluttering mesmenir curtains. It took a couple of seconds for the realisation to hit, that he _shouldn’t_ have been able to see them at all. He sat up, hands scrabbling, heart pounding with too many emotions to name, and it was only when his too-skinny wrist smacked his bedside table that he remembered.

He peeled back the bracelets and stared; at the scars, at the cuts, at the barcode, then reached over for the mobile sitting on his desk. He entered the password; capital ‘n’, a zero instead of the ‘o’, and switched on the inward facing camera.

Little was visible on the screen, not with the day as early as it was, but the eyes looking back were too wide and blue to be his own. He blinked and stared at the countless faded freckles, at the heavy bags, until he heard a quiet groan and turned to face himself.

He blinked.

Then, like a sledgehammer, the memories of yesterday hit him. Ignis shuddered, staring at his own face as Prompto opened an eye and yawned.

“Mornin’,” Prompto said when he had finished yawning, squinting at Ignis. “Iggy?”

“I’m here. Good morning.” He watched Prompto relax, groaning and burying his head back into the single pillow he had. Ignis always slept with two.

“ _That_ ,” Prompto mumbled into his pillow, lifting his head only slightly. “That was one hell of a dream.”

Ignis’s heart lurched to his throat. If he had been privy to a memory of Prompto’s, then there was no reason why Prompto hadn’t dreamed of one of Ignis’s own memories. He could only hope that Prompto’s dream had been more pleasant than his own.

Ignis had never known his parents, both of them having died in duty when he was only a babe, but his uncle had taken him in and raised him as his own. He had never been left wanting for love; he hadn’t needed much, and between his uncle, Regis, and later Noct, he had had more than enough. Thinking of Prompto’s parents made his blood curl.

Still. Someone had to voice the question. They were both tip-toeing around it, and Ignis had never been one for lies.

“What did you dream of?” he asked. Then, when Prompto shrugged, he pressed on: “Was it a memory of mine?”

Prompto’s entire spine went rigid, his body still. From atop his crossed arms, he raised his head. “…Kinda,” he said, his voice hesitant. _Please don’t say you dreamed of my memories,_ Ignis knew, was the unspoken question in the air.

“Which one?”

“I dunno.” Prompto scrunched up his nose. The morning light made the scar stretched across his face even more hideous than usual, somehow. How the others had managed to bear ten years of having to look at it constantly, Ignis would never know. “Noct was in a wheelchair.”

“Oh,” Ignis breathed.

“You were about… ten, I think?” Prompto shrugged again. “I don’t know. I felt like I _was_ you, but I couldn’t do anything. Like I was in your body, living out your memory. I could hear your thoughts. _That_ was weird.” He raised his head fully. “Wait, wasn’t that when Noct got attacked by that daemon?”

“By a marilith, yes.”

Prompto made a pained hiss. “ _Shit_ , man…” His head flopped back onto the pillow. He waved a hand up, and Ignis watched his own fingers make twirls in the air. “I just dreamed of, y’know, pushing the guy about everywhere.” There was silence for a while, then: “…That attack… really messed him up, didn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Ignis said, his voice just as soft as Prompto’s own.

Silence fell again. Outside, in the distance, Ignis could hear the sounds of Insomnia slowly coming to life. Cars honking. Machines for construction work whirling to life. The insistent beeps of traffic lights. Murmurs of people drifting in from under the open window, all of them slowly coming to focus in Ignis’s hearing.

_“Gods_ ,” Prompto whispered, having never been one for the quiet. He rolled onto his back and almost fell off the bed, flopping a hand over the side and just missing Ignis’s leg. “Dude, I couldn’t imagine goin’ through something like that so young.”

Ignis’s tongue was heavy in his mouth, the words coming out heavier still. “We’ve all been through a great deal of… trauma, I imagine.”

Prompto made a noise in the back of his throat that Ignis couldn’t interpret as an agreement or disagreement. “You guys, yeah, definitely. I mean, you’re blind. Gladio almost lost his sister. _Did_ lose his dad.” He bit his lip. “And Noct…”

“And what about you?”

Prompto snorted. The dark noise, thick with self-deprecation, set every one of Ignis’s nerves on edge. “Me? Dude, I just got kidnapped.”

“That’s… quite the understatement.”

“Look, you weren’t the one who got shoved off the train,” Prompto snapped, his voice becoming sharp. It always did, every time someone asked how he was. He used to laugh it off, giggle nervously before changing the topic, but the ten years had changed them all in ways Ignis was still struggling to comprehend. “ _I_ was. I know what I’m saying.” Prompto turned away from him, tugging the quilt up over his shoulders. “I’m fine.”

It sounded as though he had been attempting to convince himself of that for a very long time.

Sighing, Ignis said nothing. Seconds later, Prompto turned to face him, the bed sheets wrinkling under his wiggling body.

“What…” he said, slowly, looking hesitant. He swallowed and pushed on: “What did you dream of?”

_Nothing,_ Ignis wanted to say, because he knew that that was the answer that would make Prompto the happiest, and Ignis’s only goal in life ever had been the happiness of those he loved. _Nothing worth discussing._

It _was_ worth discussing. More than worth it, but he had already annoyed Prompto this morning, and it wasn’t as though the man could storm out of the room. Pent-up emotions was not something Ignis wanted to cause, and Prompto was better at holding in his emotions than most. He hadn’t gotten used to moving around blind – hopefully he wouldn’t have to. They would find a solution for this before long, and they could return to their usual bodies and to the quiet unhappiness all of them had been living in before.

Ignis never lied to the people who mattered, though, and so he sighed.

“Ignis?”

“One of your memories.”

Prompto winced.

“…Bad one?”

“Your tenth birthday, I believe.”

Prompto’s face dropped. He turned his neck, the scar flexing towards Ignis, and he shut his eyes until he was sure that the scar was facing away from him. “ _Shit_ ,” he whispered.

“Was that when… you found out?”

“You had the dream, you tell _me_.”

“Prompto—“

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Ignis suspected that there were many things Prompto didn’t want to talk about. “It was twenty years ago. It’s fine.”

Ignis sat there, watching the rise and fall of the quilt over Prompto’s back for what felt like eternity. When the sunlight caught the corner of his eye and made him squint, he sighed and stood. His toes crackled against the wooden panels.

“Do you want breakfast?”

“Not hungry,” Prompto murmured. He tugged the quilt up higher over his head and curled tighter on himself. “Be up soon.”

Saying nothing, Ignis rested a fleeting hand on Prompto’s arm before he left the room. He made two plates of toast; honey drizzled on his, ulwaat berry jam on Prompto’s, and watched his friend’s go cold as he nibbled on the edges of his own.

* * *

 

Ignis was scraping both plates of toast into the bin when Iris came by, all sweet smiles and loud laughter as she opened the front door without knocking. She had shopping bags in her arms.

“Hey Prompto!” she called when Ignis came into the kitchen, and the way her face fell was exactly like the way it did ten years. “Oh, _sorry_!” She did a twirl with her finger, at least five shopping bags gripped in her other hand. “You guys did the whole swapping bodies thing, right..?”

“You already know?”

“Yeah, Gladio told me yesterday. He couldn’t believe it.” With a hum, she plopped the bags onto the tiled floor and clapped her hands together. Her outfit was simple; a sleeveless black hoodie and skirt, but what caught Ignis’s attention were the black tattoos scrawled across every visible inch of her legs. Her shorts came down to above her knees, her checkered skirt fanning out above them, making the tattoos impossible to miss. When she caught Ignis looking, she giggled, swinging her hands out behind her. The fact that her arms were more muscular than Ignis’s own was also impossible to miss. One comfort Ignis had was that she must have grown about three inches, maximum. “What, you like them?”

“They must have been… painful.”

“Nah, not really!” She threw herself onto the counter side, clicking the heels of her boots against the cupboard doors. “I wanted to get chest tattoos, but, _y’know_ , Gladdy wouldn’t let me walk around shirtless like he does.” Her grin was infectious, sparkling in her eyes despite the bags that were larger than her sockets. Countless scars were scattered across what was visible of her body, a small collection of criss-crosses on her right cheek, larger ones sprayed over her bare arms, and Ignis had no doubt that many more laid underneath her clothing. Her fingers twirled with a bracelet on her wrist. “Jeez, this is _so_ weird.”

“What is?”

“Like, I’m looking at you, and you’re in Prompto’s body… but you’re _not_ him, y’know?” She frowned. “It’s like someone’s doing a crappy impersonation of him.”

He leaned against the counter, one leg stretched over the other. “In what way?”

“Even like that!” she squealed, pointing at his leg. “Prompto doesn’t lean against counters! He just kinda flops himself against them. He looks like he’s humping ‘em, sometimes.”

Ignis raised his eyebrow.

“And even that, too! Prompto _never_ raises his eyebrows. Definitely not just the one. Not that I can do that either.” She frowned, glancing up at her eyebrows with a look of concentration. Both of them moved up, then down, then up again, always at the same time. She let out a long groan, leaning further back. “Like _that_.” She snorted. “Must have been one hell of a monster you guys ran into, huh?”

“You’ve never heard of such a monster?”

“I _think_ I might have seen something like it, once, a few weeks ago.” Iris tapped her finger on her chin, humming. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled out next time I’m hunting.” She slid off the counter, clapping her hands together. “For now, though, we pack away groceries!”

“How much did you _bring_?” Ignis asked, staring at the sea of bags. “More importantly; why?”

Iris shrugged. “I was in a good mood.”

“Did you have enough money?”

“Iggy, I’m a _hunter_.”

“So no, you did not.”

She just giggled.

Iris had been in his apartment enough times to be comfortable with the layout of it, and so they fell into an amicable silence as they packed away the shopping. Ignis tucked the receipt away in his pocket and resolved to pay her back later, as soon as he was back in his own flesh.

Once they were done, Iris glanced around, frowning. “Not that I don’t love you to bits, Iggy, because I do, but where’s Prompto?”

“In bed.”

Her frown deepened. “Really?”

Ignis shrugged, although truthfully, he was just as uneasy as Iris was. Prompto had waved off any of Ignis’s attempts to get him up, insisting that he wanted to nap for a few hours.

Prompto didn’t _do_ naps. Not since high school.

“Bad sleep last night.”

“Okaaaaay,” Iris said, still sounding unconvinced. “You think he’ll mind if I pop in and say hi?”

“Go right ahead. He adores you.”

Her frown softened into a small smile. “Not as much as I love him, I bet. He’s the _best_!”

“That he is,” Ignis said, smiling. “Are you staying for lunch?”

She elbowed his side, laughing when he stumbled. “If you’re cooking, how can I say no?”

Iris didn’t wake Prompto up after saying that, insisting that she had to help with the cooking, and it was _sooooo_ long since she last had to cook because, hey, her girlfriend made the most _amazing_ stew and Gods she needed to introduce her to everyone else soon because she was just _perfect._

(“Isn’t that what everyone thinks of their partner?” Ignis had asked, smile widening into quiet laughter when Iris huffed and elbowed his side.)

They were quite a way into making stew when Iris next spoke.

“You think you’ll ever find ‘The One’?” she asked, voice almost lost amongst the rapid thuds of her knife hitting the board as she chopped the carrots.

Ignis’s hand stilled on the oven door. “Hardly the moment for such a conversation, I would think.”

Yawning, Iris scraped the carrots into the pot and flicked on the kettle to make gravy. She stretched onto her tiptoes to open the cupboards above. “I mean…” Her eyes flickered from Ignis to the door, before she sighed and rocked back onto her heels. “What… what exactly are you _doing_ now, Ignis?”

He tried to keep nonchalance in his voice, even as his heart twisted uncomfortably, the way it always did when he sensed a conversation shifting towards _him_. As though he mattered any more than anyone else. “What exactly do you mean?”

Iris waved a hand. “Like… I don’t mean to be rude, but Noctis was, like, your entire life. Everything you did was for him, pretty much. Your job, your combat skills, your relationships…” She bit her lip, as though it was _her_ heart being stabbed with each reminder. “And now that he’s… _y’know_ , what are you doing?” She wringed her hands together in front of her. “I… I don’t want to come off as rude or anything like that, not at all, but… you and Prompto both, it’s kinda like you guys have just…” She shut her eyes, sighing. “… _Stopped_.”

_I’m fine_ , were the first words that crawled up his throat, but he swallowed them down with great effort. He wanted to reject her words, _Gods_ , he did, but she was right and they both knew that. “…Stopped in what way, exactly?”

“Like, the rest of us, we’re moving. Monica and Cor are setting up the new council. Gladdy’s… he’s getting there.” She sighed. “I – uh – I’m _really_ not good at this kind of stuff, but… you and Prompto… I don’t know, you guys are just – _stuck_.”

“Iris,” he began, but he didn’t know what to say afterwards, and so he said nothing.

“Man, this is gonna sound _so_ selfish.” Iris dragged both of her hands over her face with a quiet groan, so much like her brother that it made Ignis start for a second. It was rare, nowadays, to see blood relatives together, given just how many people had died during the ten years. “But I’m… I’m kinda glad this whole body swap thing happened.” She smiled, hesitantly. “Maybe something good will come out of it.”

“Like what, exactly?”

“I don’t know, but… it has to be better than what it was before, right?”

_Anything_ was better than before, was what Iris really meant, and was what Ignis was secretly thinking, but neither of them said it out loud.

He tried to think about Noct, he really did, but every time he did – it came with too many emotions. His charge was _dead,_ the person he had dedicated his mind and body and blood to was _dead_. How was anyone meant to be able to just – get over it?

Noct was the ghost in the room that only a person without fear brought up. Iris was much braver than what any of them could ever aspire to be.

It hurt too much. _Gods_ , it hurt so, so much. Even just thinking about him, about his smile, about how Ignis had _never_ gotten to see him at thirty years of age, made his chest ache. About how he had to listen to his king, his best friend, walk away from them for the final time to die.

“There’s no wrong way to grieve,” Iris said softly, when Ignis hadn’t spoken a word. “But you _have_ to let yourself grieve.” Her eyebrows knotted together as she leaned forward. “You can’t – you can’t ignore it, Iggy.”

“Thank you,” Ignis said, fully aware of how stiff and monotone his words came out. In Prompto’s voice, it sounded so very wrong. “Would you mind getting Prompto?”

“ _Iggy_ —“

“Dinner will be ready soon. He hasn’t eaten yet today.”

Iris sighed. “ _Fine_.”

* * *

 

“Are you awake?”

“Mhmm.” Prompto’s head was planted in his pillows as Ignis crawled into bed next to him. He didn’t know when they had wordlessly agreed on sharing the same bed, but truthfully, Ignis didn’t mind. It brought back happier memories, ones of the four of them stuffed into a tiny tent, limbs and breaths on one another. The warmth of another human being. Of someone who you loved. A subtle reminder that you _mattered_ ; if not to the world, then to the people closest to you, to the only people that mattered to you.

Ignis chuckled. “Shall I take that as a no, then?”

“Yeah,” Prompto mumbled, voice muffled. “Good night.”

“To you as well.” He flicked off the light and fluffed the pillows up before lying down fully. It didn’t take long to fall into another dream.

* * *

 

The low drone of arcades machines was a noise Ignis hadn’t heard in years. The screen in front of him flashed before ‘VICTORY’ streaked across it, accompanied by tinny upbeat music.

A hand slapped his back. Even without looking, as Ignis’s entire heart leapt into his throat, he knew exactly who was standing beside him.

“Nice one!” Noct called, laughing. Prompto’s own grin was dazzling. “You’re _amazing_.”

“Hehe,” Prompto mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. When the name entry flashed up for their names in position one, he typed in ‘NAP’ and hit the enter button. “Ain’t that good.”

“Shut up, you are.”

“Says who?”

“Says me, the _prince_.”

“Ohhh,” Prompto whispered, still grinning. “Guess I have to listen, then.”

“Absolutely.” Noct elbowed his side. “Could be charged with treason.”

Prompto’s heart flipped even as he kept his smile in place. “Ohhhhh!”

“I hafta say,” Noct began. His next words were like absolute zero had struck Prompto’s chest: “The way you shoot them so fast? It’s like you’re not human.”

He startled. The toy gun slipped loose in his fingers.

_“You’re not human,”_ sneered that man’s voice, gravely yet high, a voice he had only ever heard in nightmares. Of needles and screams and of people leering over him, metal glistening in their hands. _“Never have been, never will be.”_

On instinct, his eyes snapped down to his wrist. The wristband was there, large and obnoxious and hiding the inked secret beneath. He swore, though, that he could see a silver of a scar peeking out, and he hurried to yank it down just enough.

Noct’s hand thumped his shoulder, almost startling his panicking heart out of his chest.

_Calm down. He doesn’t know. No one does._

“Y’know, you’d be really good in the Crownsguard.”

Prompto snorted. “ _Riiiiight_.” He pushed in a coin of his own before Noct could complain and shove yet more of his change into the machine. The title screen beeped.

Noct’s hand rested over his right one, the one with the gun in his hand. Prompto squeaked and jumped, smacking his hip against the cabinet.

“I mean it,” Noct said, eyes steely, once Prompto had recovered from tripping over himself yet again. “You’re good with a gun. Like, crazy good.”

Prompto scratched the bottom of his nose, glancing away. “Not much else, though…”

A sharp _thud_ on his arm drew him out of those thoughts, before they had a chance to go much deeper. “Hey,” Noct snapped. He opened his mouth, then shut his eyes, sighing heavily. “Don’t say that.”

“Sorry.”

Prompto bit his bottom lip tight as he watched Noct’s face go through a thousand different emotions in as many milliseconds. His fringe fell over his eyes as he turned back to the games console. “…I mean, you don’t _have_ to.” Noct shrugged, pointedly not looking at him. He hit the two-player story mode button and selected their characters. The entire time, Prompto just stood there, frozen, his over-paranoid mind telling him again and again and _again_ that he had messed up. Like always.

The menu beeped. Noct stood back, gripping his own gun. Only then did he look at Prompto. “It’s… just a possibility. If you want to.”

“Join the Crownsguard?”

Noct nodded.

Prompto laughed. He couldn’t help it, and the baffled look Noct threw him only made him laugh louder. “S-sorry, dude.” He shook his head. “I just – no way you bein’ serious.”

“Would I joke about something like this?” Noct asked.

The game’s starting music began to play; without another word, they both sank into their familiar positions and fired, their minds on little else.

Well, _usually_ , Prompto’s mind would be focused on the game, but Noct’s words rang in his head.

The Crownsguard? That was _crazy._ He was _seventeen_. Okay, though, _to be fair_ , the youngest ever Crownsguard had been _thirteen_ ; at thirteen, Prompto had been having daily breakdowns. Still kinda was.

That guy – Cor Leonis, the _Immortal_ , and holy shit, that was such a cool name – had been an exception, far from the norm. Prompto had yet to properly meet Noct’s other friends, Gladiolus or Ignis, but he knew that they were both in the Crownsguard and they were only a few years older.  Age couldn’t have been that much of a factor.

_Then again_ , hadn’t all of them been _royalty_ , or at the very least really influential figures? He’d heard of the Amicitia and Scientia houses; you’d be stupid to not have had. But _then again_ , the Immortal hadn’t been from a royal family, and look at how far he had gotten. What few commoners there _were_ in the Crownsguard were sneered at, looked down at by royalty; it was one of the city’s worst kept secrets. And, geez, Prompto was pretty low down the social ranking even amongst the commoners and he was _really overthinking this wasn’t he._

“Your lip’s bleeding,” Noct said, eyes not moving away from the screen. Prompto ran his tongue over his stinging lips, wincing at the metallic pang on his tongue. He clenched his teeth shut and focused on the screen.

Or, _tried to_ , at least.

He didn’t know what he was planning to do after high school. He couldn’t do _nothing_ , but he didn’t have any interest in university, and even less interest in any low-end jobs, like retail or farming. The few hours he worked in the small photography store each week was enough to keep him satisfied.

If he just… stayed at home, what would be the point? It’d be even worse than what it was now. He’d be alone, _constantly_ , and he could think of few things worse _._ He doubted his parents would suddenly give up work; it wasn’t like they cared about him. It was bad enough as it was, coming home most nights to silence, whispering “I’m home” to a house that never spoke back.

To spend _all_ of his time in something like that..? He couldn’t.

And even when his parents _were_ home… as selfish as it was, as petty and horrible and _cruel_ as it was, he always wished that they weren’t. It was suffocating, trapped in an atmosphere with people who only put up with you because they had to. If they hadn’t wanted kids that badly then why the _hell_ had they adopted him?

Really, though, what right did he have to complain? They didn’t – they didn’t _abuse_ him, didn’t hit him or anything like that. He knew some kids in their year had it way worse. Who the hell was he to start whining about his parents not paying him attention? Just because even Noct’s dad, the _king_ , showed up to parent’s meetings, and his own never did… just because most kids _looked forward_ to going home…

His chest was aching. Prompto let out a heavy sigh, masking it into an overly dramatic squeal as the ‘GAME OVER’ screen rattled in front of him. Noct’s was still going strong, although he sent Prompto a quick, concerned glance. Prompto flashed him an apologetic smile.

He didn’t know what to do. A part of him, a very heavily stomped upon part, knew that he’d barely get to see Noct after high school. He had to become the _king_ , after all, and kings had no time for commoners. Especially for people like Prompto. He wasn’t even being self-depreciating; it was a fact. The sky was blue, the sun sets in the west, you’ll soon lose the only friend you’ve ever really had.

He bit his lip again, hissing at the jolt of pain.

Finish high school first, he told himself. Try not to worry about everything else, even as he knew that he’d be lying awake tonight listening to his thoughts run circles around themselves. Take it one step at a time.

“What’s up?” Noct asked, taking the gun out of Prompto’s hand and slipping them both back into the machine. His phone beeped; he yanked it out, scowled at it, then shoved it back into his pocket.

“Who was that?”

“Gladio.” He wrinkled his nose. “I’ll reply later.” Under the gaudy arcade lights, the concern in his eyes was evident. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

Noct frowned. He didn’t say anything, but he had that _look_ , where his nose would twitch the tiniest amount and his mouth would go down by about three millimetres. Prompto’s gut twisted with guilt. Everyone else seemed to make Noct look like that, and Prompto never _ever_ wanted to make him look like that.

“Ehhhh, just tired.” It wasn’t a lie, but when _that look_ worsened, Prompto thudded Noct’s back with a grin that he didn’t really feel. “Hey, c’mon, gimme your phone!”

“Huh?” Noct blinked, but he handed it over to Prompto. Prompto entered his password.

“Dude, you _really_ need to change that.”

Noct rolled his eyes. His lips were four millimetres higher than before. “The only person who knows my password is you. I think I’m safe.”

Prompto clutched at his heart with a dramatic swoon, grinning at his friend. Noct turned his head away sharpish with a huff, but he wasn’t fast enough to hide his rapidly-widening smile.

Humming, Prompto clicked through to Noct’s voicemail settings, his heart warming when he saw that his own name was saved as ‘Prom’. “Hey, ya think Gladio’s gonna try calling you?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, like, if he _is_ , we should record a totally awesome voicemail message!”

They stopped in a small area next to the arcade’s entrance, the tight walls muffling most of the noise. Noct stood there for a few seconds, stupefied, then made a rather constipated noise and lurched for his phone. Prompto ducked out of the way and made tsking noises at him, his fingers dancing along the phone screen as he typed.

“Oh no you _don’t_!”

_“Your pin has been successfully changed.”_

“Prompto—!”

_“To manage your personal greetings, please key—“_

“Prompto I _swear_ —“

_“To record a new personal greeting, please key—“_

“Give me my phone!” Noct yelled in-between his growing laughter. Prompto’s shoulder banged against the wall, his entire body shaking with his giggles.

_“Please record your personal greeting. To end recording, please key—“_

“ _Heeeeey_ ,” Prompto began in a poor imitation of Noct’s voice, his laughter the only noise for several seconds. “This – this is the voicemail of Noctis Lucis Suckelum—“

“I hate you _so much_ , give it back!”

“And I announce a royal degree that I _suck_.”

Noct’s near hysterical laughter was the last sound Ignis heard, before a rough shove against the wall jolted him from his sleep.

* * *

 

The first thing he was aware of was that the other side of the bed was cold and empty. The second was the sunlight peeking in through a small clink in the curtains, reflecting off the packets of medication that hadn’t moved from where Ignis had put them during the first night of… _this._

The third were the tears still damp on his cheeks. Chest heaving, Ignis sat up and wiped them with the back of his hand, over and over, until he was sure that they were gone. His entire body was jerky as he got out of bed, heart aching with a hollowness he never allowed himself to feel.

It was another day. Hand shaking on the doorknob, he creaked open the door and made his way towards the faint scent of coffee. The hallway was too long. Too empty. The kitchen door was open only a fraction.

Inhaling, Ignis sighed and opened the door.

“They’re anxiety pills,” Prompto said when Ignis entered the kitchen, picking off hairs that he didn’t dare ask had come from.

He stopped, a stiff hair hanging still between his fingernails. “I beg your pardon?”

Prompto slammed the cupboard door shut with far more force than necessary. His back was taut under Ignis’s dressing gown, his entire body coiled tight with an unfamiliar anger.

Ignis stood in the doorway, watching. He didn’t speak a word. Instead he wondered what Prompto must have dreamed of. Which one of Ignis’s memories he had been privy to.

Ignis didn’t mind, not really. He had nothing to hide, after all. He only hoped that Prompto’s dreams were kinder than what his own had been.

Sometimes, the worst kind of dreams were the ones that reminded you of what you once had. The happiest momentarily, the cruellest in hindsight.

Noct’s laughter from a lifetime ago rung in his ears. It was a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his days. _Here is the boy that you could not save from fate_ , it sang. _Here is the only one you were meant to protect, and the only one you failed to protect._

He came back to the present. Prompto’s fists made his knuckles white. He wasn’t wearing Ignis’ gloves.

“I know you’ve been eyeing it up. The other medicine.”

As if he needed to explain. “Says who?”

There was a long silence, one that spanned many seconds. Then, Prompto sighed, dragging a hand through the tangled mess that was Ignis’s bed hair. All his simmering rage fizzled out like a dying bomb daemon.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Nothing to apologise for.” Ignis smelt the air. “Coffee?” He hadn’t tasted Ebony for _years_ , but it had been a deluxe brand of coffee, and, somehow, he had a feeling that luxury brands hadn’t been a worry for anyone for many years. It would be months before he could taste it again – _if_ he could ever experience it again.

Still. Ignis was human, and he had material wants, and this was one that he dreadfully missed. It wasn’t selfish of him to gripe, just as long as he kept said complaints to himself.

Prompto paused. “You want some?”

“Please.”

The kettle flicked on. Prompto managed to get two cups on his second attempt. While the kettle hissed, he was pressing his fingers together tightly, stretching out his hands. He glanced over to where Ignis was standing, then suddenly sighed.

“Is everything all right?” Ignis asked, as softly as he could.

“Sorry,” Prompto said again. His eye flicked over to Ignis again. From this angle, Ignis couldn’t see… _that_ monstrosity stretched across his face, the constant reminder of the sacrifice he’d made for a man who had ended up dead anyway.

He would pay that price, thrice over, for any of them. For – for Noct, for Gladio, for Prompto, for all his loved ones… he would gladly go through that again.

Subconsciously, he rose a palm onto the left side of his current face, and felt only weather-battered skin.  He sighed.

“Did you dream of my memories again?”

Prompto turned fully around at that. The kettle popped behind him, and was ignored by them both.

“It wasn’t even a _bad_ one,” Prompto whispered, more to himself than Ignis. His fist dug into his thigh, then, suddenly, he lifted his hands to his necklace. Ignis paused.

“Prompto—“

“You should have told me,” he continued, fumbling with the thread, attempting to find the latch. It was a pesky bugger to find, even with sight, and Prompto didn’t currently possess such a gift. “About – this.”

“It was hardly of significance,” Ignis lied. He stepped forward, bare feet cracking on the tiles. “Here, allow me.”

“It’s fine,” Prompto said immediately. “Really, I can do this much.” His tongue peaked out his mouth as he continued to mess about with it.

It would have been impossible to have not heard the undercurrent of resentment in his voice just then. Ignis could understand it all-too-well; the frustration that you couldn’t do _anything_ right, couldn’t even brush your teeth or fix your own clothing or – _anything_. You were useless, less than human.

Indeed, that was how he had felt at first, in the weeks after his loss. But he had been desperate – so _so_ desperate – to not lose the only family he had ever truly had. To listen to their footsteps walk away from him for the final time. To be left alone in the darkness, with no one at all, much less no one that you could trust.

That was why he had been insistent on accompanying them. He knew, now, that it wasn’t out of selflessness, or devotion to his king; it had been born from a maddening fear of being left _alone_. The Ignis from those dark times would have rather died with his loved ones than live alone.

Time, though, did end up healing _some_ wounds. He learned. He adjusted. He grew used to the new world. He left his cane, first only for short walks, then for explorations, then for combat, and then simply left it forever one day. He had no use of it, now, although a part of him wanted to kick himself for not keeping it. Watching Prompto now, stumble into walls and doors and everything in-between, made him want nothing more than to be able to slide that cane between his fingertips and allow it to guide him.

He blinked. Prompto’s cheeks were flushed now, his fingers _still_ fiddling behind his neck.

“Prompto, I _understand_.”

He froze, hands stuck to his neck, then sighed and allowed them to drop to his sides. “Course you would,” he mumbled as Ignis drew around to his hunched back. “It’s yours, anyway. I – I don’t know why I’m bein’ so annoying. Sorry.”

“No need to apologise at all,” Ignis said. “I’m going to push your – _my_ – hair back and touch your neck to get the latch. Is that okay?”

Prompto made a quiet laugh. “Sure, go for it. Just don’t mess your hair up too badly.”

“I doubt that it’s possible to make my bed hair much worse looking,” he murmured. He brushed aside the stray strands of his hair, and it was _bizarre_ , seeing the back of his neck. It wasn’t a body part that people tended to see on themselves, after all.

Prompto tensed under his touch, and goodness, he had a _lot_ of moles. Ignis’ fingers worked around the latch; in a few seconds, it clipped off, and he let go. “It’s off.”

Prompto pulled it off. “Thanks.” He clenched it in his fist, finger roaming over the tiny skull, before he held it forward. “It’s yours. Take it.”

He did so, gingerly, feeling the cool metal chain brush against his bare arm as he rubbed a nail over the skull. It had rusted, and there were chips in the edges of it, where old silver peeked through, but it was _his_.

Heart warming, Ignis tugged the chain around his neck and fastened the latch. He tucked it underneath the thick material of Prompto’s turtleneck jacket.

“Thank you,” he whispered, feeling as though he had just come home. Prompto’s bright smile was something Ignis would have killed for to be able to see on the man’s own body.

“No problem!”

“Now, do you want me to finish the coffee?”

Prompto yelped and stumbled to the side, smacking his hip off the counter. Ignis snorted before he could stop himself.

“Y-yeah!” Prompto squeaked. “Sure! Go for it!”

A few minutes later, as the two of them sipped their drinks opposite each other, a thought came to Ignis. His cup clinked down on a tiny gap amongst the sea of newspapers.

“Prompto.”

His lips smacked as he peeled them off the top of his cup. He had been leaning forward, arms loosely crossed in front of his cup. At his name, he sat up straight. “Yeah?”

“You…” Ignis sighed. “You mentioned earlier, about your pills.”

Just as he expected, Prompto let out a small sigh, glancing away. His teeth worried the bottom of Ignis’s scarred lip. “…Yeah.”

It must have been a week or so, since their change. _Ignis_ hadn’t felt any withdrawal symptoms; he had researched them. No headaches, no nausea, his concentration was fine… if anything, with sight, he felt more alive than he had in a long time.

But he didn’t know if the same could be said for Prompto.

“Have you been taking them?” Ignis asked softly.

The silence told all.

“ _Prompto_ —“

“I just – I didn’t know if I _should_ , okay?” He was still nibbling his lip, unaware of the way that it was starting to bleed under his teeth. “I mean, I don’t know if it affects your body or my head or—“

“Prompto, your lip.”

At once, Prompto winced, clenching his teeth. He dabbed at his lip with the back of his hand. He pulled it away to wipe on his trousers, but Ignis didn’t miss the faint splattering of blood.

Withdrawal would explain his behaviour over the last few days. His irritation and short-temper, especially this morning, his want to sleep, not wishing to interact with people, a lack of hunger…

“What’s your dosage?”

His head snapped up. “I’m not—“

“You _are_ ,” Ignis said firmly. “You are suffering from withdrawal, I believe, wherever _you_ believe it or not. Have…” The next words were heavy in his mouth. “Have you been diagnosed?” A few seconds later: “…You don’t have to tell me, of course. I apologise.”

“It’s alright,” Prompto murmured. His hands clenched around the bottom of his glass. “I… my mother—“ The word was spat out of Prompto’s mouth—“insisted that I got checked out, shortly after my nineteenth. Kept saying that even _my_ brain couldn’t be that messed up for no reason.”

Ignis’ fingers froze in a clamp around the handle of his mug. He exhaled slowly. This was no time for anger. Not now.

“That’s the last day I ever saw her,” Prompto whispered, his voice breathy, as though he had just made a terrible kind of realisation. Ignis’s sinking heart told him that he hadn’t been meant to hear that.

Prompto glanced up again. “It’s GAD.” His fingers tapped against the edge of the table. “Generalised Anxiety Disorder. That’s – the kind I have.” He looked very small in that moment, as though he had confessed to a terrible crime, curling his body up tight and holding his hands in his lap. For the first time since their conversation began, he was utterly still.

Ignis exhaled. “Thank you for telling me.”

Prompto ducked his head. “I… guess I _should_ take them, huh?”

“I… believe that would be best, yes.”

His hand was kneading deeply in the flesh of his arm, running his thumb over his right wrist. Then, Prompto sighed and snatched his hand away. His face was set in a hard line, the grim expression of someone who knew what had to be done.

“Alright,” Prompto said, lips drawn thin. “You know where they are, right?”

When Ignis returned, the box rattling in his hand, Prompto was looking thoughtful. He had his arms crossed, both eyes shut, tilting his head back, foot drumming against the leg of the table. His right eye snapped open as Ignis sank into his creaking chair. He slid the box across the table, scrunching up any newspapers in the path.

“I was thinking,” Prompto began. His foot’s tapping increased in speed, the only sound in the too-quiet room. “Shouldn’t _you_ be the one taking it? I mean, medicine affects your body, right?”

“A concern I have had myself.” Ignis sighed. “Regardless, I have not felt any withdrawal symptoms, while you have.” He leaned across the table, linking his fingers together. “Therefore, I feel that you should be the one who takes them.”

Ignis knew that he could be annoyingly stubborn when he wanted to be, irritating others with how he often refused to shift on his own points. Goodness knows that Gladio had told him off for it enough times, despite being just a bad an offender as Ignis himself.

Prompto’s hand curled around the box. He flipped the lid up and pulled out a thin tablet pad with surprising ease. One hand went to his glass, the other to pop out two pills. He dunked them into the water, gave Ignis a long look, then sighed and chugged them back with ease.

All was silent.

Prompto scraped his chair back. “I’m – gonna go back to bed.”

Ignis looked up. “Do you need anything?” he asked, but Prompto was already shaking his head.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

The rest of their day was quaint; they parted their separate ways, Ignis to the shops, Prompto remaining within the house. By the time Ignis had returned and was ready for bed, Prompto was already asleep. He had the quilt tucked in tight under his hand, body curled up into a ball.

Ignis knew that he himself had never slept like that. Smiling, he crawled into bed next to him, being careful not to touch or disturb him, and watched the sun’s dying rays behind his sleeping eyelids.

* * *

 

The blinding light above him was the sole brightness. Ignis squinted, opening his eyes, and the world that greeted him was one of darkness. The familiar noises of daemons rumbled in the landscape, from thunder bombs humming and buzzing, to the grumbling roars of iron giants, to the claws of arachnes skittering across the dying world.

His right wrist was aching, and when he tried to move it, pain shot through his arm. The hiss that escaped his lips was not Ignis’s own—

Ah, of course. Another dream.

An unhappy rhythm pattered in Prompto’s chest, one that wasn’t entirely stable. He couldn’t work out what could have caused it; the pain in his wrist was bad, and the clotting blood around it was worrying, but they’d all had worse wounds before. Some physical, some mental, all of them ones no one ever brought up.

All _this_ one needed was a bandage and a couple of days to heal.

It must have been nerves. Anxious, still tense from an earlier encounter that Ignis hadn’t been privy to. The scent of nicotine was suffocating, and when he looked to his left, there was a snuffed-out cigarette, its feeble flame flickering. Ignis wanted nothing more than to crush it under his hand and reduce it to ashes, but alas, he could do nothing in dreams.

At the rumbling of footsteps, Prompto glanced up, peeling his back off the lamp post. “Yo, big guy!” He waved with his left hand, his grip around his battered mobile razor tight. The chocobo charm on it glistened in the light of the lamp.

“Yo,” Gladiolus greeted, voice stiff. His face was covered by shadow. “What happened?”

Prompto tried to shrug with one shoulder, smiling. “Messed up my wrist. Sorry for dragging you out—“

“Don’t apologise,” Gladiolus snapped. He crouched down, shaking out a bandage roll from one pouch.

Prompto opened his mouth, then clicked it shut when the only words attempting to claw out were more apologies. Sorry for making you go to this trouble, sorry for not being good enough, sorry for _never_ being enough, sorry for being so pathetic and useless and _worthless_ and—

“Weren’t you hunting with a group?” Gladiolus asked.

Prompto stilled.

The bandage snapped in Gladiolus’ hands. Rolling the tube in his other hand, he didn’t say a word, but Prompto knew that that was only because he was waiting for him to speak.

“Uh.” Prompto blinked. Right now his mouth was stuffed with cotton and the quiet but constant aching in his wrist really was _not_ helping.

_Useless._

“I’m taking these off,” Gladiolus said, resting the bandage on his crossed legs. “Sorry.” His fingers brushed Prompto’s wrist—

_“Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”_

“Get off me!” he yelled. He shoved Ardyn back with his left hand, stumbling back, smacking against the metal cross at his back and oh _Gods_ not again—

But it wasn’t Ardyn. It was Gladiolus, who was staring at him with very wide eyes, his hands hovering in the air uselessly.

Or maybe it _was_ Ardyn. It wouldn’t be the first time that this had happened. Wouldn’t be the first time that Gladiolus melted away to reveal Ardyn’s smiling face. There was nothing – _nothing_ – that said that the person sitting in front of him couldn’t be Ardyn. Hell, it would explain how he had gotten here so quickly.

Ardyn – _Gladiolus_ – leaned forward—

“ _Don’t!_ ” Prompto shouted, voice breaking on that single word. He clutched his wrist to his heaving chest, well aware that he was breathing way too fast, way too shallowly. “D-d-don’t touch me!”

“ _Prompto_?” he asked, after a long silence, and it sounded _so_ much like Gladiolus—

“I’m not falling for it,” Prompto whispered, blood rushing in his ears. “Not again.”

“Prompto, what the _hell_?” His face snarled with anger; Prompto flinched, raising a hand to defend himself on instinct, but nothing came.

Many seconds passed before he lowered his hand. When he did, Ar- _Gladiolus_ was staring at him, jaw slacked, his eyes shining. He grunted and turned away, running his sleeve over them before sighing deeply. For a single second, he looked ready to cry.

“What can I do?” he began, whispering as though talking to a baby cactuar, “Is there _anything_ I can do to convince you that… that I’m the real me?”

Prompto’s heart ached. He dropped his hand, but kept it tease, ready to summon his gun if he needed to. Ardyn had pulled this on him before.

“Tell me something,” Prompto whispered. “Something that only you’d know.”

So Gladiolus told him. He told him about the first time they went jogging together, a couple of months after they had met, how they started at the Citadel at five in the morning with sleep in their eyes and grins on their faces. He told him about how Prompto had stopped to ask Gladiolus if he could take a picture, as if he needed permission to _take a picture_. He told him about how Gladiolus had stood there, panting, chugging down a bottle of water as Prompto darted about attempting to find the perfect angle. About how he had looked at the kid, with wide smiles and bright eyes that shone with an awful desperation to be loved, and thought that maybe he understood, just a little, why Noct and Iggy had been charmed by him so quickly.

When he had finished, the two of them sat there in silence, illuminated by a light too bright to be real. The squelches of a flan not ten metres from behind them lingered in the eternal night.

Gladiolus held out his hand. Wordlessly, Prompto rested his wrist in his palm. Gladiolus’ fingers were gigantic, compared to the bare bone of Prompto’s own, but his touch was gentler than a mother who cared (never either of his). He kept his fingers away from the blood-smeared bracelets.

“Want me to..?”

“I’ll do it,” Prompto said quickly. He pulled his wrist away, willing his fingers to stop _shaking_. It took him a few tries to push off the latches of his bracelets, and when he did, he tugged them away and shoved his wrist into Gladiolus’s hand. He hoped that the blood would cover the worst of the – of his scars.

He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bare looking at his own wrist, at the scars that _he_ had inflicted on himself; and what had been the point, _what had been the point_? That damned barcode was still there. It would never go away, no matter how much he had hacked away at them. He’d only stopped when Almeta had caught him one night.

And – well. Even the vague memory of her yelling at him, as much as he had attempted to repress it, was enough to make him never do it again.

Antiseptics were in low stock, and his wound was hardly urgent enough to require them. Prompto listened to Gladiolus unscrew a water bottle—

“Hey,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to—“

“Shut up,” Gladiolus snapped. Prompto did just that.

He hissed as Gladiolus wiped away the blood; some of it his own, some of it from the daemons they had slayed earlier. Once that was done, he took the bandage from earlier and wrapped it around his wrist. Prompto kept waiting for him to make a comment about the massive tattoo staring right at his face, at the black lines that showed that – well, he wasn’t _human_. Or, if not them, then definitely the scars.

But he didn’t say anything.

He pulled the bandage into a tight knot and let go. Prompto slipped his bracelets into his pocket.

“Thanks, big guy.”

Gladiolus grunted. There was something on his mind, obviously, judging from the intense stare he was giving Prompto. It was impossible to read his face in the darkness.

“Prompto.”

He raised his head, then leaned forward and groaned in relief as feeling returned to his numbed behind. “Yeah?”

“You _were_ with people, right?”

Prompto’s fingers tugged at his bandage. Gladiolus’ eyes watched him like a hawk, narrowing at the movement. He yanked his hand away and forced it to stay still in his lap.

“What’s it matter?”

“A _lot_ ,” he growled. “We need to keep every last person alive, and I _swear_ , if anything happens to you—“

“Whoa, hoo, chill.” Prompto held up his left hand, trying for an easy smile. “Yeah, I was with people. What about it?”

“Well—“ Gladiolus cut himself off, gritting his teeth. “Where are they?”

“I told them to go on ahead.” The lie slipped as effortlessly from his tongue as countless others. Judging from Gladiolus’s narrowing eyes, though, he didn’t buy it. Not this time.

“That wound on your wrist,” he began, and Prompto’s heart stopped: _not the scars **please**_ —“that wasn’t from a daemon, Prompto. Stop lying to me.”

In one way, his heart sagged with relief. In another way, it pumped faster, and Prompto could feel his back hunching the way it did when he got ready to fight. “It’s not their fault—“

“Your tone isn’t exactly convincin’ me here.” Gladiolus leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin in his hand. “Prompto, you can tell me. We’re friends.”

“I got a cut on my hand and one of them went to check it and they saw the barcode, okay!?” He withdrew on himself, holding his hand to his chest, trying to calm himself down. “And – y’know, not everyone’s as chill about it as you guys are.”

_“I-it’s fine, really, it’s just a cut—“_

_“Lemme clean it out – huh?”_

_“The hell’s that?”_

_“G-get off! Let go!”_

_“Ain’t that a barcode?”_

_“Don’t MTs have that!?”_

_“You tellin’ me that one of the King’s Crownsguard ain’t freakin’ **human**!?”_

_“It’s – it’s not what it looks like—“_

_Before he even blinked, there was a shove on his back. He hit the ground, hard, but was already pushing himself up when a boot heel stomped hard on his right wrist. He bit his tongue to hold his scream; iinstead, he whimpered, low and pathetic. He glanced up into the face of their group’s designated leader, a woman who not even an hour ago he had been playing cards with on their way to thire target. Her light laughter seemed to be a lifetime away; her dark face was made darker by the shadows, and darker still by the scowl in her eyes._

_“I’d heard rumours,” she spat, “but to think that someone like **you** was a Nif.”_

_“I’m not,” he whined, “please, listen—“_

_She snapped her heel away, as though she couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. Prompto made a pained noise; he tried to flex his wrist, but all it did was throb with pain. “Things like you are the reason we lost the sun to begin with.” Behind her, a couple of people shifted uncomfortably, eyes flickering between Prompto and her blood-crusted heel, but no one did anything. No one spoke out. No one tried to help him._

_He squeezed his eyes shut. Footsteps rumbled on the ground next to his ear as some of them left. The leader crouched down, her cargo pants fattening out as she did so, and she leaned next to Prompto._

_“Face it, MT,” she spat. “You’re not human. Never have been, never will be.”_

_“P-please…”_

_She stood up. “Can’t believe we trusted a thing like you. You really had us all fooled, y’know?”_

_“I – I wasn’t—“_

_“Let’s move, team. We need to report back to HQ.”_

_Someone stepped forward. “But – what about him?”_

_She snorted. “What about it? Let’s move.”_

_All but one of them moved. One of them – a small man, younger than Prompto was – stood there, wringing his hands together, glancing between their leader and Prompto. Then, when everyone else had vanished, he darted over to Prompto and dropped a potion._

_“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and then he too was gone._

_There was a lamp post nearby that was still working. Squinting at the beam of light, Prompto took the potion in his hand – useless, really, given that… **he** wasn’t here to boost them up with magic, and made his way to the light. There was no way he could fight with his wrist messed up as badly as it was._

_He slumped down next to the lamp, breathing in relief as he sat in the small circle of light. With the hand that wasn’t aching and struggling to hold anything, he dug about in his pocket and sent Gladiolus a text. Ignis was in Lestallum at the moment, but he knew that Gladiolus was nearby. That was what Cindy had said, at least._

_Once he had done that, he fumbled about in his pockets and pulled out a cigarette packet. It was difficult with one hand, but he managed. He shoved a stick into his mouth, lit the end, and let relief wash over him as he waited for Gladiolus to arrive._

“Give me their names.”

Prompto blinked, dragging himself out of his thoughts. Now wasn’t the time, not when he had company. “What?”

“You’ve been hunting with them for a while, right?” Gladiolus hissed. His teeth were bared, and he was taking deep breaths, attempting and failing to reign in his anger. “I need to know who they are.”

“You don’t,” Prompto said quietly, biting at his lip. “You really don’t.”

“Prompto—“

“It’s fine,” he said, voice flat. “It’s not the first time something like this has happened.” _It won’t be the last._

Gladiolus’s fist slammed the dirt. “So they _did_ do something?”

Prompto winced, biting his lip hard enough that he could taste blood. “I – I didn’t say _that_.”

“But they did, didn’t they?”

Prompto sighed. “Can we just drop it? I need to get back to Hammerhead.”

“Hell no, Prompto, we are _not_ —“

“Please,” he whispered. His chest was tight again. Why didn’t Gladiolus _get_ it? He wasn’t someone worth fussing over. He was meant to cheer them up, to keep everyone going, but all he ever did was drag them down and cause them trouble.

_Worthless._

In this world of darkness, he needed to be even stronger than what he had to be before. They needed someone – _anyone_ – to keep their spirits up, to keep them laughing and smiling even in the darkest of nights.

And – well. If Prompto had to sacrifice himself for that, so be it. Rather one person a little than the entire world suffer a lot. And, _really_ , he hadn’t suffered. Ignis had lost his sight, his uncle, his _purpose_. Noct had lost _everything_ , and he’d been sucked into a crystal for – well, Astrals knew how long. Gladiolus had lost his father, almost lost his sister, the person he’d sworn he’d die for before losing. The only thing _Prompto_ had lost were parents that, truthfully, he hadn’t mourned as much as he probably should have had. Hard to miss your parents when they were never around and you hated them, with as much quiet anger as any teenager could hold.

Maybe he wasn’t human after all. His fingernails ached as he tightened his fingers in the dirt. What kind of kid didn’t miss their dead parents?

And – yeah, he’d been kidnapped, and shoved off a train and screamed at by his best friend, by one of his only friends, been told that everything was his fault ( _“Are you seriously trying to kill me!?” “Why WOULDN’T I!?”)_ but Prompto had been ignoring those memories for years. He’d continue ignoring them until after he died.

(Hopefully he wouldn’t have to ignore them for much longer.)

His chest was tighter. The breath he let out was raspy, fingernails itching over the spot where his heart was.

“Fine,” Gladiolus whispered, voice low and sharp. Prompto startled and glanced up; he was staring off into the unknown, the leather of his trousers squeaking in his clenching fists. A deep breath hissed through his nose. “Fine, Prompto. _Fine_.” He stood up abruptly, boots scuffing. “You want to carry on pretending? Great.” His voice rose as he swung an arm out. “ _Great_! Let’s go!”

Prompto pushed himself onto his knees. “Pretending?” he asked.

“That you’re fine,” Gladiolus snapped. “That, oh, it’s okay, I just had someone break my wrist because I have a tattoo!”

“My wrist isn’t broken,” Prompto said immediately. He struggled onto his feet, wobbling with only the usage of one arm. “And it’s not like that. It’s not just ‘a tattoo’.”

“Well, it should be, because it damn well doesn’t matter. Don’t try and excuse their behaviour, Prompto.”

“I’m fine—“

“Course you are,” came the bitter interruption. “Of _course_ you are. Whatever, Prompto. Let’s go.”

“Are _you_ okay?” Prompto blurted out, and the sharp, disbelieving laugh that tore itself from Gladiolus’s throat rattled him more than any daemon’s cries. “Gladio?”

“Just _tell_ me what happened.” Gladiolus’s body was utterly still. His attention was focused solely on Prompto, who shuffled and looked away at the intense gaze. “I’m not – I’m not asking for an Astral to pop out of the sky, Prompto.” He sighed, and all the fight sunk out of his body. “I’m asking you to talk to me. If not me, _someone_. Anyone.”

“About what?” Prompto said, words harsh. He felt himself bristle on instinct, fist coming in front of him. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

Gladiolus made a noise of frustration. “You never tell anyone _anything—“_

“There’s nothing _to_ tell.” The next words tumbled out of his twisted tongue: “I – I think I know myself better than you do, so stop – stop trying to insist that there’s something wrong, please. There isn’t.”

A long silence stretched. Then, without a word, Gladiolus sighed. He turned around and started to walk towards Hammerhead, the sole dot of light in the far distance.

“C’mon,” he mumbled, and Prompto tripped over himself in his haste to follow. It was an unhappy march; not even a single daemon disrupted them, perhaps sensing the tension in the air between them. A selfish part of Prompto, the part that he had always tried his hardest to stamp down on and supress, was relieved when they came to Hammerhead. The caravan light was on; in the garage, Cindy was working away at a vehicle, some bright yellow monstrosity that bore a curious resemblance to a chocobo’s butt. Corny music crackled over the radio near her. Taka must have been in the diner, judging from the scent of fries that wafted out in the open air; potatoes were one of the few crops that were easily grown in this dark world. There were huddles of hunters scattered over the place, all of them sparing Gladiolus and Prompto a brief glance before returning to their conversations. Some of their eyes stayed on Prompto, and his hand clenched around his bandaged wrist. He was being paranoid, he knew, but…

“I, uh, I have to go,” Gladiolus said, breaking the awkward silence. His hand rubbed the back of his neck. “Got a hunt to report to Holly.”

“Sure,” Prompto mumbled. He picked at a loose end of his bandage. “Sorry to hold you back.”

“I’m just glad you’re alive,” Gladiolus said. There were emotions in his eyes that Prompto didn’t want to analyse, didn’t want to think about, but he knew would keep him awake for a long time. Relief, surprise, _desperation_ ¸ as if Prompto would actually ever do something.

Maybe he was getting too easy to read.

“You too.” Prompto smacked his shoulder with his left hand, grinning. “Take care of yourself, yeah? Say hi to Holly and all the others for me.”

“Will do.” Gladiolus took a step, then stopped, and looked at Prompto. “Keep looking after yourself, Prompto. You’re worth a hell of a lot more than you think.”

Prompto’s breath caught. In a flash of an eye, Gladiolus’s arm swung around his neck in an awkward half-hug. Then, by the time Prompto could splutter out a response, Gladiolus pulled back with a small, rueful smile.

Without another word, he was off. Never once did he look back.

He must have stood there for a good while, lost in thought, because an elbow leaned on his shoulder and snapped him out of his thoughts. He tensed, fist ready to lash out, relaxing only when a familiar voice drawled in his ears.

“Short time no see, firecracker,” Cindy said, grinning, her cheeks covered in oil. Prompto twisted around so that they were standing face-to-face. “Whatcha doin’ here? Weren’t ya out huntin’ with some fellas?”

“We got it done.” He couldn’t help but feel easy in her presence; Cindy had that effect on most people, able to draw smiles out of them with nothing more than her sharp wit and intelligent mind. Prompto wished that he was half as good at cheering people up as she was. She was never a bother, never a nuisance, never _worthless_ , never—

“What happened to your wrist?” She frowned. She slid a hand up his left arm. “C’mon, let’s get ya back to Paw-paw, he can take a proper look at it—“

As gently as he could, Prompto pulled himself away from her. “Nah, it’s fine, don’t worry.” His eyes flickered to the caravan. He pressed thirty gil into her hand. “I think I’ll try and get some sleep.”

Her face fell, but only for a second; she pursed her lips out, nodding, her hands on her hips. Her biker jacket was zipped up all the way to the bottom of her neck, and her tracksuit bottoms puffed out from how tightly she had tucked them into her boots. The advent of darkness had also brought about a significant chill in the air, one that had forced them all to dress for survival, not for fashion or style.

Cindy was thirty, now. Prompto must have been around twenty-four, twenty-five; hell if he knew what month it was now, in this eternal darkness. He felt so much older.

She drew away, stuffing the change into her tracksuit pocket. “Sure thing, hon. You want me to bring you anything? Food? Drink?”

He hadn’t eaten all day, but he wasn’t hungry. Besides, this was something that he _could_ control. If nothing else, if absolutely _nothing_ else, he could control this.

“Nah, I’m fine.” He smiled at her. “Go back to whatever you were doing.”

She nibbled on her lip, but eventually nodded. “Ya need anything, anything at all, gimme a holler, all right?” She winked. “Never too busy to help you out.”

“Thanks, Cindy,” he said, and he hoped that even a small amount of his gratitude was evident in his words. Cindy never pushed, or prodded, or demanded to know anything; she was _there_ , a constant comfort, and sometimes that was all someone needed. He’d long outgrown his crush on her. “You’re the best.”

She elbowed his side, grinning. “I should be sayin’ that to ya, hun,” she said, voice warm, and then turned and left for the garage.

He watched her go, smiling until she was out of sight. As soon as she was gone, he let it drop and sighed, running a hand through his greasy hair. Sleep. He’d get sleep – or try to, at least, and work things out from there.

Tomorrow would be a better day. It had to be.

(He told himself that every day. Maybe, just maybe, one day it would be true.)


	3. something only you'd know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more Ignis learnt, the less he wanted to know. Of nightmares, arguments, and the hope of a kinder tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Check the trigger warnings i’ve added to the tags!**  
>  im so fucking sorry for this length THERE’S NOWHERE GOOD TO SPLIT IT UP.  
> “bond,” you whisper, “stop writing such long chapters. no one wants a 24k chapter. please, split it up”  
> “fuck you,” i hiss, “i do what i want”  
> sorry for the lateness lmao had a lot of shit happening with exams and my brain and just. Life In General’s Been Kinda Rough lol (nier automata also put me out of commission for a few weeks god what a _good good game)_  
>  ON THE BRIGHT SIDE!!! 24K!  
> also dw; this story ain’t getting abandoned. idk when i’ll get chp 4 up, but hopefully life will calm down soon lmao. i’ll finish this baby if it’s the last thing i ever do  
> btw im??? FLOORED??? BY THE SHEER NUMBER OF KUDOS AND COMMENTS AND VIEWS AND SUBSCRIBERS??? 130+ kudos for two chapters What The Hell dudes thank y’all so so so so SO MUCH, it means the world to me – idk how y’all are finding this story but THANK YOU  
> (also who's ready to mcfucking die at episode prompto?? I AM)  
> (btw got a twitter @greenpiggles if u wanna come and cry over ffxv/p5/cute girls with me)

Prompto had already left by the time Ignis woke, tangled in his sheets, heart aching with a dull pain he couldn’t put a name to. The fridge was bare when he peered into it for his usual breakfast, and he sighed, popping a stomach pill into his mouth before heading out for the door. Prompto had left him a voicemail on his own mobile; they hadn’t swapped mobiles. All Ignis had done was enable the very same settings Prompto had put on for him all those years ago.

_“Iris wants to hang out, so I’m meeting up with her today,”_ Ignis’s voice said from his phone speaker, a chirp and spring in his voice that could only have come from Prompto. It sounded so utterly _wrong_ in his voice. _“So, uh, don’t worry. I’ll be back later. Have a good day, Ignis!”_

Something about those words nagged him, but for the life of him, he couldn’t work out what.

By the time Ignis had left his apartment and was heading towards the city centre, it must have been past ten. Some people gave him smiles and a wave as he approached, and he made sure to wave back at them. It wasn’t surprising that Prompto was well liked by the locals; truly, it was impossible to _not_ like him.

However, that wasn’t always the case. On occasion, he could sense a glare, and when he’d turn around, the person – middle-aged, feminine appearance, dirtied overalls, ponytail pulled through a cap – would have already stopped looking at him. Over the last week or so, Ignis had noticed that many of the restoration effort workers wore identical clothing, but he could have _sworn_ that he had seen this same woman five times by now.

He tried to ignore her. He had groceries to purchase.

It was – unsettling, in a fashion, but also deeply nostalgic, to see just how little Insomnia had changed. Most efforts were concentrated on tidying, and what little rebuilding they had been kept as close to the original designs as possible. The pedestrian crossing ahead was in the same spot, the lights made the same shrill beep to indicate when people could cross, the baby tree blooming next to him was significantly smaller than the one before it, but there was no doubting that they shared the same species.

Just as he turned away, he saw a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. Sure enough, that woman was there again, a dark blob in the bright sunshine. She yanked down the brim of her baseball cap, as though that would conceal her face any.

Sighing, Ignis stood at the traffic lights and waited for them to beep. He went across, footsteps in time with the countless others around him, and had just made it into the alleyway when something slammed into him from behind.

His hands stung as they scraped the pavement. There was a boot on his back – Ignis shoved it off, scrambling to his feet and bringing his hands into a defensive position on instinct. Years of training still stuck sharp in his mind, even when he was in a different body.

A combat boot thudded on the ground. The woman from before twisted her mouth into a snarl. Her eyes were murderous.

“Yeah, that’s right!” she yelled, uncaring or not noticing the small crowd of people that were slowing down to watch them. “Attack me, _Nif_ scum!”

Ignis blinked in sheer confusion. “I’m not—“

Then he caught sight of his hands. Too skinny, freckles peeking out from behind his gloves, and there was the large loop of wristbands wound tight around his right wrist. Since the first day of the swap, he’d barely paid attention to them.

“I hardly think that country of birth matters in this day and age,” Ignis said instead. “Not when our entire world had no choice but to unite.” Gods, he thought that Insomnia had gotten past this, he really had.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She took a step closer; Ignis backed away two. “It wouldn’t matter if you were _human_.”

Ignis’s heart froze. Were Prompto’s origins a widely known secret? He’d have been more surprised if _no one_ knew that he was from Niflheim, but to know that he wasn’t…

He didn’t allow himself to finish that thought. He _was_ human, much more so than this woman spitting fire and hissing venom in front of him, who bore more of a resemblance to a furious malboro.

“My entire family died thanks to MTs, y’know?” Her fist slammed the alleyway wall. “All of them! And I had to watch them burn! It’s _your_ fault that all of this happened!”

On either end of the alleyway, large crowds of people had formed. Some of them had their mobiles out, standing on their tiptoes to get as good a view as possible; others whispered along themselves, occasionally glancing over nervously.

None of them helped. Not a single person came forward to stop her, despite how _wrong_ all of this was. Ignis’s heart sank.

“Go on,” she spat. “Hit me. Kill me, like you have with everyone else!”

“The only thing I wish to do is to have a conversation with you.”

She laughed, a high-pitched chortle that left Ignis’ ears ringing.

“Oh, _really_?” Then, she was marching forward again, faster this time. Ignis hurried backwards, hands raised, never once taking his eyes off her. He refused to harm her, not unless she attacked. “I didn’t know that MTs could talk. That’s precious.”

Without warning, the crowd behind her parted:

“Is there an issue here?” a familiar voice shouted, boots stomping on the gravel. It took Ignis a couple of seconds to recognise her as Monica. Her former faint freckles had vanished, her hair streaked with more silver than brown, but her sharp glare returned all the spark and fury that it had held years ago. To say that Ignis was surprised to see her would have been an understatement; last Iris had told him, she had made her way as a high-ranking member of the new Council that was being established.

Why, then, was she here, on the streets?

The woman startled back, holding her hands up in the air. Her handbag thumped against the pebbles. “I didn’t do anything!” she squealed, with the exact tone of a child who had done something very bold. “It attacked me first!”

The crowd’s murmurs rose. Monica stopped, making eye contact with him, and then something like weary resignation set into her gaze. “Not again,” she whispered, but Ignis had no time to ask her what she meant.

“It _attacked_ me!” the woman snapped, jabbing a finger into Monica’s chest.

“Do you have evidence?” Monica frowned. She crossed her arms. “You don’t appear to be injured.”

“MTs are smart bastards—“

“No, they are not,” came Monica’s flat voice. Some of the crowd was beginning to leave, several of them complaining and groaning in boredom. Ignis kept his hands up. “ _Prompto Argentum_ , on the other hand, is an exceptionally intelligent member of the Kingsglaive.”

Her head snapped between Ignis and Monica. “That – that _thing_?” she spluttered.

“ _He_ —” Monica continued sharply, the wrinkles around her eyes growing intense— “is a highly skilled hunter who once served King Noctis. _He_ is a large reason why we are all able to enjoy the sun’s light once more. _He_ is not some common street thug.”

The woman’s mouth opened. Closed. “B-but, Council Elshett—“

“I understand your grief,” Monica said. “Believe me, I do.”

“Then why in the _Six_ is that thing allowed inside our city’s walls!? Those things are responsible for everything that’s gone wrong!”

Monica sighed. She looked weary. “Perhaps, but Prompto himself has done nothing but protect us. I’d advise you to leave, ma’am, before I decide to press racially aggravated assault charges against you.”

“Y-you _wouldn’t_.”

“I would,” Monica said immediately. “Now, please leave. Past me.”

“Have you completely forgotten what happened to the MTs!?” she roared. There was a wild kind of desperation in her eyes, the one from someone who honestly believed that they were doing the right thing. “The ones in Gralea!? They went rogue! They just – went crazy!” She thrusted a finger at Ignis. “That thing could do exactly the same! How many people do you think it could ki—“

“I won’t repeat myself.” Monica’s face was the most severe Ignis had ever seen it. Her hand twitched near the dagger strapped to her waist. “Leave. Past me. Now.”

Silence stretched, so thick and tense that Ignis felt himself suffocating on it. When the woman crouched, he brought his fists up on instinct, but she was only bending down to collect her handbag. Their eyes met as she stood up, and her foot swerved towards him.

“Empty soulless _monster_ —“

“ _Ma’am_.” Monica raised her hand. The woman spat at the ground in front of Ignis before turning and stomping away. Something fluttered out of her bag as she did so; Ignis reached forward to catch it, but she was gone by the time he caught it.

It appeared to be a slip of dog-earred paper, torn and wrinkled. He unfolded it, slowly, and came face-to-face with the photograph of a beaming family.

He stared at it, heart thumping in his ears, until Monica’s hand rested on the edge of the photo.

“I’ll make sure that it’s returned to her.” Ignis allowed her to take it. She tucked it into her satchel, looking at him with the overwhelmingly strong gaze of a concerned mother. “Is everything well, Prompto?”

“I, ah,” Ignis began, “I’m not Prompto.”

Monica blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Prompto and myself swapped bodies.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Who am I talking to, then?” Then, realisation flashed across her face: “Wait, Cor and Iris both mentioned this to me.” She blinked again, staring at him. “… _Ignis_?”

“Indeed.”

She laughed a little, flicking her fringe out of her eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Is the first time?” he demanded. Monica sighed.

“He hasn’t told you, has he.” Her words weren’t a question. “And if you don’t know, no one else would.” She sighed, sweeping out her arm, and started to walk. Ignis followed after her. “Come with me. My apartment’s only a few minutes away.”

The sun was high in the near-cloudless sky, beaming off countless shop windows. Ignis had to squint and cover his eyes; a motion that he never thought he’d have to do again.

Gods, he would miss it, when he returned to his own body, to that world of darkness. He’d become accustomed to it, grown used to only ever seeing shades and blobs, but now that he’d re-experienced such _beauty_ …

He swallowed, and tried not to dwell on such thoughts. They were useless, after all. No matter how much he wished otherwise, he would have sight for much longer; it would be selfish, astonishingly so, if he refused to return to his own body and leave Prompto with no sight.

_Prompto_ was the one who needed it more. _He_ was the one who took photographs, who delighted in the beauty of nature, who woke up early to experience the sunrise and slept late to enjoy the night. At least, he _had_ , once, before the eternal darkness had fell.

After that, well… he’d never been with his camera. Simple as.

“We’re here,” Monica announced. They were standing in front of an ordinary-looking door, part of a typical set of flats, with a fresh-looking door. Monica jangled a key in the lock, then paused and turned around. “You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”

“No?”

“Is Prompto?”

“I… don’t believe so?”

She made a sigh of relief. “Good,” she said, and pushed open the door, shutting it close behind Ignis. “Second door on the stairs.”

Ignis allowed her to push it open; as soon as she did, the wails of several cats echoed in the air.

“Wha—“

“I keep a lot of cats,” Monica mumbled, her white cheeks going the slightest hint of red. “I – don’t have many visitors. I apologise.”

A cat’s head popped out of a door at the end of the tiny hallway, meowing. Ignis could see patches of the carpet from underneath a sea of cat toys. He stepped over a second cat that was sprawled on its back, only to feel sharp claws dig into his boots as he put his foot down. When he glanced down, the kitten gave a mighty yawn, flexing its claws in and out of the ankle of his boot.

“Monica,” Ignis said.

“Yes?” she called, sounding sheepish. There was a click of a kettle being switched on. “Tea?”

“Three sugars with milk, please.” He wiggled his foot. The kitten meowed. Another one creaked open the bathroom door and stared at him, its wide eyes judging. A fourth one drew closer to him from Astrals knew where. Ignis had never known true fear until this moment. “Monica. How many cats do you _have_?”

“Only six.”

“ _Only_?”

The whistling kettle almost drowned out her voice. A cupboard door was opened. “There are a large number of strays, for whatever reason. We can’t work out why. A lot of them are old cats, probably having lost their owners during the ten years.”

“Insomnia itself has only been an active city for just over five months.”

“Which makes the explosion of strays all the more baffling, I know.” The kettle clicked. Ignis was still trapped between a claw and a wall of kittens. He gave his foot another shake. The kitten whined, but did not let go.

“Please,” Ignis whispered, “let go.”

It meowed louder.

“I’m looking to get a couple of them adopted, actually,” Monica said. Ignis, with great difficulty, managed to shake off the kitten clawing at his foot, only to come face to face with three cats staring at him. And – Gods, was that a _fifth_ cat behind him? “It’s difficult, looking after them all, but more so to find owners.”

Ignis tiptoed his way past the blobs of toys into the kitchen. It was a tiny room, with a small table and three chairs shoved into one corner and a countertop that only held the bare necessities. Monica was stirring the two cups. “Why is that?”

She shrugged, crouching down to grab a bottle of milk from the fridge. “People are too busy focusing rebuilding their own lives, I imagine. It’s been a hard five months; virtually everyone here is working on the reconstruction effort. A pet complicates things, unimaginably so.”

Ignis had never been keen on pets, apart from cats, but he couldn’t see any reason for a normal person to _not_ have one. They weren’t _that_ difficult to look after; they were expensive, true, but all pets tended to pay back fourfold with their wide eyes and their general cuteness by simply existing.

“Here you go,” Monica said, handing him a plain white cup. He thanked her and made to sit down, only to startle up at the last second when he spotted a flurry white blob on his chair.

It was small, even for a kitten, but it wasn’t just fluffy; it had _stripes._

“Goodness,” Ignis muttered, raising his eyebrows. He made to move the kitten, but then it _yawned_ , an adorable widening of teeth that left him leaning against the table instead. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. After all, it _was_ the only cat of Monica’s that hadn’t attempted to attack him yet.

“Do they have names?”

Monica’s cheeks grew brighter. “Y-yes,” she muttered, sipping from her cup, not meeting his gaze. “They do.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“They are, ah, hardly brilliant names.”

“Enlighten me.” He pointed down to the kitten curled up on the chair, staring at the thick black stripe across its ear. “Who is this?”

Monica _beamed_. “Mr. Stripey. He’s the newest one, I found him just a few days ago.”

“Mr. Stripey, hmm?” There was something very endearing about that name, Ignis thought, and he was unable to not smile as he looked at the kitten. Indeed, he could have sworn that he was smiling back. He raised his head with a small purr, squinting his eyes as Ignis gave behind his ear a gentle rub. “Goodness, he’s _adorable_.”

“Are you thinking of adopting one?” Monica asked eagerly. “Even with your lack of sight?”

“I hadn’t been,” Ignis confessed. “But…” He shook his head. Adopting a kitten? What nonsense. He didn’t have time to look after a cat. Furthermore, how could a _blind_ person look after a pet? It would be selfish of him. “What are the others called?”

As if on cue, the other five cats waddled into the room, their meows deafening Ignis’ ears. The one that had refused to let go of his boot earlier was giving Ignis a murderous glare. Monica’s teaspoon tapped against her cap as she pulled it out to point at each cat in turn.

“Dog, Kitty, Meow, The Cat, Pepino.”

“’ _Dog’_?” Ignis paused. “’ _The Cat’?_ ”

“I know,” Monica said quickly. “They’re terrible names. Truly. I _know_. I hadn’t been expecting to keep them for this long.”

Smiling at her embarrassment, Ignis went to take his first sip of tea – and spat out the revolting flavour at once.

“Ignis?” Monica asked, eyes wide as Ignis spluttered. “Are you well!? Do you need water?”

“I’m – I’m fine,” he wheezed. He laid the cup on the table and crossed his arms. “You _did_ put three sugars and milk into it, correct?”

Indeed, he thought, that had been the problem. The aftertaste on his tongue was ridiculously sweet, to the point of being sickening.

“I did.” She frowned. “When did you last have tea?”

“A few weeks ago. The exact same as this.”

“Hmm…” She brushed her fringe, taking another long drink. “Does _Prompto_ like tea?”

“He hates it. Says that it’s disgusting – he only drinks coffee.” Ignis paused. “ _Ah._ ”

“There you go.” Monica finished her drink, looking quietly smug. “That must be why you find it so… unpleasant. Does Prompto dislike sweet foods?”

“Most of them, yes.”

“Well. That’s that.”

A lull fell over them, broken only by the purring of the cats as Monica bent down to stroke each of them. As she whispered sweet nothings to them, her smile soft, Ignis emptied his drink down the sink and raised out the cup before drying. He sat down in the chair next to Mr. Stripey, who raised his head, flattening it against Ignis’s outstretched palm.

Monica thumped down in the seat opposite of Ignis, elbows on the desk, a serious look on her face. All of the cats had scattered out of the room. Regretfully, Ignis pulled his hand away, his heart aching at the small meow of protest Mr. Stripey made.

“I won’t mess around with pleasantries any longer,” she said. “Tell anyone – _anyone_ – what I’m about to tell you, and you will be in trouble, Ignis. I’m already breaking what little trust Prompto has in me by telling you this.”

Ignis crossed his arms. “Why me, then?”

“Because you’re the one I can trust the most with this. Gladiolus would—“ She shook her head, sighing. “I mean no harm to him at all, but… Prompto would work out very quickly if I had told Gladiolus. You know what he’s like, Ignis. Fiercely protective of his loved ones to a fault. He’d probably insist on accompanying Prompto everywhere he went.”

Snorting, Ignis nodded. “Can hardly disagree with that myself.”

“I’ll be blunt. People are still angry at Niflheim.” Monica linked her fingers together. Ignis’s heart dropped; he knew already where this was headed. “They blame Niflheim for everything that happened, for the Starscourge, for the daemon outbreak, for Lady Lunafreya’s death – may her soul know peace. But…”

“There’s no Niflheim left,” Ignis continued when Monica didn’t. “The empire fell ten years ago, when the Starscourge outbreak could no longer be controlled.”

“Exactly. And – well.” She sighed. “Prompto’s from Niflheim. That’s hardly a secret. His appearance gives it away, if nothing else. I don’t know how much people know about his _exact_ origins, but…” Her hands clenched. “It seems to be more than I thought.”

“Prompto spent his entire life hiding that barcode. He still does.” Ignis looked up. “How do _you_ know about it?”

“I only found out a few months ago.” Her head dipped. “When I found him, the first time after he’d been attacked. The first time I know of, at least.”

“… _What_?”

“I’m a member of the Council, true, and most people here are with the restoration effect, but there have been civilian issues ever since Insomnia was re-established. People who aren’t happy about the direction we’re taking it, who want Insomnia to remain _exactly_ the same as before.”

Ignis frowned. “Exactly?”

“They don’t want foreigners, to be frank. Or they may not be happy with our policies…” She sighed. “A number of former Crownsguard, such as myself and Cor, have been assigned to street patrols, basically. Keeping the peace on the ground level. _That_ was what I was doing when I found Prompto.”

She shook her head. “I won’t give you the details, but I had to see the mark on his wrist. I didn’t recognise it; Cor did, though. All the public _seem_ to know is that all MTs possess a barcode, and… well. Rumours get around.”

“People use Prompto as a proxy,” Ignis whispered. “They take out all of their feelings about Niflheim on – on _him_.”

Monica nodded. “I’ve only had about… four incidents with Prompto. Today’s the fifth.” She frowned, leaning across the table. “How long have you been in his body for?”

“Less than two weeks.”

Her face softened. She drew back, cupping her elbows with her hands. “That short a time?” she murmured.

Underneath the table, Ignis clenched his fists, loosened them, and tried to remember how to breathe. It was difficult, if not impossible, when all he could think about was people hurting Prompto for something that he had never wanted, over something he had never asked for, for something that _wasn’t his fault at all._

“Ignis?”

He hissed through his nose. Mr. Stripey gave him another look. “My – my apologies.” He shook his head. “I just – I cannot see the _logic_ behind their actions. At all.”

“Neither can I.” She leaned on the palm of her head, elbow scrunching up the cover on the table. “If it’s any comfort, the one time he was physically assaulted, his assailant had to go to hospital.”

Ignis snorted, curling his hands around his cup. “Why’s that?”

“Prompto broke his arm. I wasn’t there; the Marshal saw that particular scene.” Monica smiled. “I believe the Marshal, ah, gave him a fist bump and took him out to celebrate.”

“Isn’t the Marshal fifty-five?”

“He is.”

Ignis ducked his head, smiling.

“That’s still…” There were _no_ words to describe the red-hot anger that shot through his veins. Ignis shut his eyes and took a long breath, remembering the advice that he often had to give to Gladio. Deep breaths in, hold, deeper breaths out, and let the emotions fade away. You have to stay detached, emotionless, neutral. “That’s still _nonsense_.”

“I agree with you,” she said. Her jaw was tight. “I absolutely agree with you. But there’s nothing I can do if he refuses to take action. All _I_ can do is keep an eye out and make sure that any situations that occur don’t end up becoming severe.”

“When will he say that he’s _not_ fine?” Ignis spat. “When he’s _dead!?_ ”

Monica frowned. “They won’t get that far. I won’t allow anyone to get that far.” She sighed, the wrinkles around her eyes growing as her eyebrows furrowed. She jabbed a fingernail into the frayed cloth on the table. “He _promised_ me that he would tell someone about this.” The cloth ripped under her sudden jerk. “And he hasn’t.”

“Perhaps he has told Gladio.”

She shook her head. “He would have told you before anyone else. I know that for a fact.”

Silence. Then, Monica stood, her chair scraping against the tiled flooring. Mr. Stripey jumped at the noise, and Ignis’s hand was on his head, reassuring him, before he himself realised what he was doing.

“Thank you for listening to me.”

Ignis stood as well, shaking his head. “No, Monica. I should thank you for telling me.”

“Truthfully, I’ve been wanting to tell someone for a long while now.” Her smile was hesitant. “Mr. Stripey’s taken a real shine to you, I have to say.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Ignis murmured, coiling his finger under the cat’s chin and stroking. He couldn’t help his grin when the cat lifted his head, shutting his eyes in a clear sign of trust. The cat trusted him more than Prompto probably did.

He stopped stroking.

“I won’t take up any more of your time. I’m sure you have duties to attend.”

“I was on lunch break, don’t worry.” She smiled, leading him towards the door. Ignis went with her and tried to avoid the death glares of four jealous cats, which was a significantly more difficult task than what anyone might first believe. When he turned around, they were all just – _sitting_ there, in the hallway, eight eyes gleaming back at him.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Ignis promised.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling – then the smile dropped just as Ignis’s own widened. She made a snort of laughter, trying and failing to hide it behind her hand.

“I’ll see you later.”

“ _Stop_ ,” she whispered, still grinning. She rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “And thank you, Ignis.”

* * *

 

When Ignis returned, the sunset was low over the horizon. The ruins of the industrial district drew long shadows over his apartment as he fiddled with the handle and pushed it open. They had yet to start work proper on the industrial district, focusing instead on the residential areas. They had to push out the overcrowded population from Lestallum, after all. Everything else could come later, once people had a comfortable standard of living.

The air echoed with soft humming. Ignis couldn’t whistle.

“Hey,” Prompto said, voice soft, and the gentle smile that spread across Ignis’s scarred lip was so _Prompto_ -like that it made him startle. “How was your day?”

_I learnt that you’ve been physically assaulted on several occasions for reasons that weren’t your fault,_ Ignis wanted to say.

He wanted to. Gods, he did. He didn’t want to lie to Prompto anymore, but he seemed to be in such a _good_ mood, and those moods were so rare nowadays. The Prompto standing in front of him, still smiling, still humming, would have been a mirror personality of the one from years ago. A completely different body, true, but that _smile…_ the one Ignis had never realised he would miss so severely until it was gone.

“Fine,” he eventually said. “Yours? How was Iris?”

There was a sharp wariness in Prompto’s eye, but then he blinked, and his entire face lit up, as though shoving back whatever he had been feeling. Ignis’s stomach tightened with discomfort.

“Oh, you know, Iris is Iris.” He grinned, bouncing on his heels. It all felt terribly _false._ “We didn’t do much, just hung out.”

“Did you meet her girlfriend?”

“Nah, she was out hunting.” Prompto rubbed his finger under his nose. “Y’know, Iggy,” he began in a stage-whisper, leaning forward, hand cupped around his mouth. “I’m starting to wonder if this girlfriend exists at all.”

“Oh?” He pulled past Prompto into the corner and flicked on the kettle, taking out two cups. “What makes you say that?”

“I mean, c’mon, not even _Gladio_ has seen her yet.”

“She could be scared, perhaps. Of how we’d take it.”

Prompto paused. “Iggy,” he said, voice flat.

“Yes?”

“You’re gay.”

“Indeed.”

“Gladio’s bisexual. I’m pan.”

“And?”

Groaning, Prompto dragged his hands over his face. “She shouldn’t be scared! We’re not gonna care – and in the _extremely_ unlikely event – like, less than one percent chance – that Gladio doesn’t approve, we can go kick his ass.” He frowned. “Hell, she can kick his ass no problem.”

A beat, then: “Do we even _know_ anyone who’s straight?”

“No,” Ignis said immediately.

“Exactly!”

“It must be some other reason, then.” Try as he might, though, Ignis couldn’t think of a single thing, however minor, for why Iris wouldn’t want any of them to meet her girlfriend. Perhaps she _had_ just been busy…

The kettle popped. He made coffee for them both and carried them into the sitting room. Prompto was only slightly slower than he was. He didn’t even bump into anything, trailing his hand along the sofa before flopping down into it with a relaxed groan. He curled up his legs underneath himself and leaned forward.

“Wanna stick on a movie?”

Ignis rested an elbow on top of his crossed legs, staring at Prompto. “Would you…”

“Yeah, course I can.” Prompto grinned, jigging his leg up and down on the spot. He fished out his phone, humming to himself before leaving it on the arm of the sofa. “They talk, right?”

“Not unless we watch a silent movie.”

Prompto clutched his chest. “You wouldn’t _dare_ ,” he whispered, voice exaggerated.

Saying nothing, Ignis took a long sip of his coffee, smiling around the rim when he heard Prompto whine.

“Iggy, that silence better not mean what I think it means!”

His smile widened.

“ _Igggggy_!”

And widened.

“C’mon, silent movies haven’t been popular for _years_!” His voice dropped. “Are you seriously—“

Upon hearing the low panic in his friend’s voice, Ignis stopped drinking and took the television remote. “We’ll watch whatever you want. I have no preference.”

“Ohhhh, is there any of the ‘First Reality’ movies on?”

Ignis raised his eyebrows. “ _Those_ movies?”

“Yeah, _those_ movies!”

“…No harm, but wouldn’t you be a bit old for them?”

“You’re _never_ too old for a good movie.” Prompto tried to thump Ignis’s shoulder and ended up smacking the back of the sofa. Cheeks faintly glowing, he curled his hand back upon himself, wiggling his head against the cushion behind him. “C’mon, pick anything! You know what I’m into!”

“I don’t.”

“Take a _wild_ guess.” A pause, then: “Can you pass me my coffee?”

Ignis did just that. He watched Prompto curl his hands around the ceramic, gingerly, before lifting it to his lips:

“Pfft!”

Ignis tried to hide his snort. “Something the matter?”

“That is _disgusting_ ,” he whispered, staring at the cup as if he could see how it had offended him so. “Iggy, I _trusted_ you!”

“It’s exactly the same as you always have it,” he said, and he was very thankful that Prompto couldn’t see his grin. The quiet snort he made was impossible to not hear, however, and Prompto’s head whirled in his direction.

“Is it, really? _Is_ it?”

“It is indeed.”

Cup still in his hands, Prompto lifted it up again, much slower than before.

“Prompto, the taste does not have any correlation with the rate of cup movement.”

“Shuddup,” he mumbled, rolling his eye with a small grin. He took another smaller sip, only to also hack out that one. “ _Ifrit’s balls_ , what the hell—“

“Oh,” Ignis said, his voice far too innocuous. “I remember now.”

“Remember _what_!?” Prompto wheezed. He pounded a fist on his chest, still coughing.

“We _are_ in different bodies.” Ignis stroked his chin. “Different tastes wouldn’t be too out of the question, would it?”

A beat of silence, then a long wail:

“You _kneeeeew_ that!” Prompto pushed himself forwards and almost went toppling onto the floor. He managed to catch himself, somehow, but stayed forward. Very slowly, his cup hovered down onto the coffee table, and he rested it on top of it with a gentle clink. As soon as he did, he thrusted a finger towards Ignis. “You _knew_!”

“Do you have any evidence?”

“Apart from my _amazing_ detective skills?” Prompto winked, which honestly looked quite unsettling in Ignis’s body, even without the scars that littered his face. “Nah.”

“Don’t make accusations that you can’t back up, Prompto. Evidence is _everything_.”

Prompto waved a hand at him. “Just stick something onnnn!”

Quietly chuckling to himself, Ignis went to the search option – and raised his eyebrows at the results given. “Goodness, they’re having a marathon run of ‘First Reality’..?”

“Oh, ohhhh, you gotta record them all!”

“And why, pray tell, should I do that?”

Groaning, Prompto draped himself across the sofa and rested the back of his hand on his forehead. He attempted to flutter his eyelashes at Ignis, although one set of them had been seared off years ago, and the other was barely visible from behind his visor. “Oh, Iggy, _please_ , I beg you!” he cried in a breathy voice. “I need a reason to live!”

Ignis’s heart caught in his throat. It was too long before he next spoke. “…Well, since you asked so nicely—“

“ _Yes_!” Prompto pumped his fist high in the air. “Victory for Prompto!”

“The first one’s starting in a few minutes, shall we watch that one?”

“Ohhhh, ‘Cocoon’? Hell yeah! First one’s _always_ the best.”

Ignis put the channel on, turned up the volume, and put the remote on the arm next to him. “Hmm, the acting was acceptable, but the camerawork was simply _dreadful_. ‘Spira’ had exactly the opposite problem.”

“Wait, the fourth one?” Ignis had never seen Prompto sit upright so quickly before, and he had been witness to the time Gladio had thrown a spider into Prompto’s snoring mouth. “You’ve seen them all!?”

Ignis coughed. His cheeks most certainly did _not_ colour. At his silence, Prompto’s grin widened before he smacked Ignis’s arm.

“Awww, _Iggy_ , you never told me!”

“Don’t make such assumptions—“

“I _knew_ it!” Prompto sang, still grinning as he laid back down. Ignis suddenly regretted never buying any throws or blankets for his apartment, for visitors that he never knew he would have. “C’mon, we gotta watch them all now!”

“Wouldn’t it be best to wait until we return to our own bodies?”

Something dark passed over Prompto’s face. It was gone before Ignis had time to fully take it in. “…Yeah, maybe.” He thudded a fist against the sofa and raised a finger to the ceiling. “Or how about we watch them all now and watch them all _again_ if that happens?”

“You want us to watch them _twice_?”

“Oh, c’mon, like you mind.”

Snorting, Ignis finished off his drink and watched the opening scene begin on the television. As soon as the actor began to speak, though, so did Prompto.

“So, y’know, there’s something that’s been bugging me.”

“Yes?”

“Why’s it called ‘First Reality’? I mean, they can’t _all_ be first. And they can’t _all_ be reality. There’s only one reality, right?”

“Prompto.”

“It’s just _annoying_. Like, why do that? Imagine if you did the opposite.” Prompto frowned. “Imagine making a bunch of movies called… I dunno, ‘Final Fantasy’. It’s not exactly _final_ if you have at least ten of them.”

“ _Prompto_.”

“Like, at least the fantasy part would make sense, ‘cause you can have _tons_ of fantasies.” Prompto paused. “ _Please_ don’t take that out of context.”

“Duly noted,” Ignis said, already calculating how to best summarise this story for the next time he spoke to Gladio.

Prompto threw his arms up. “I’m just _saying_. Stupid name.”

They dissolved into silence after that, broken only by Prompto declaring ‘used to be my crush’ every single time a person appeared on-screen; or, in his case, spoke. Ignis dug out a horribly out-of-date bag of popcorn from somewhere deep within his cupboards, remnants of the only time Aranea had visited. Prompto accidentally flipped half of the bag onto the floor after screeching about a plot twist they both knew was coming.

“I can’t believe she did that!”

“Prompto, you knew that was – are you _crying_?”

“No,” Prompto sniffled. “Absolutely not.”

Ignis grinned. He had missed this. _Gods_ , he had missed this easiness, this banter. He could almost imagine Gladio slouching on the floor, grinning, nuzzling Noct’s hair with a headlock—

_Ah_.

He let out a shuddering breath, clasping his hands together.

“Iggy?” Prompto called, concerned.

“Apologies. I’m fine.”

Prompto opened his mouth, as though he wanted to protest, but then sat upright and smacked an arm out as explosions boomed from the television. “Did you _see_ that!?”

“I know you did.”

Prompto snorted, falling back onto his back. _“Shuddup_.”

Never again would Noct be able to experience this. Never again would Noct be here to abandon his rubbish in every nook and cranny, never again would Ignis walk in to the ringing laughter of him and Prompto playing video games, never again would he hear his closest friend’s voice.

He dug his nails into the knuckles of his hands. Now was _not_ the time.

_“We’re here for you,”_ Noct would have said, concern peeking out from behind long lashes. His gaze would have flickered from Ignis’s eyes to the door, then back to him, the quiet resolve of a budding king burning in them. _“You’re not alone.”_

His nails drew blood. Hissing, he wiped them on his trouser legs.

It was dusk when the movie ended. Stretching out his numb muscles, Ignis set the record button on the rest of the series and stood up. Prompto gave a hefty, dramatic yawn before pushing himself off the sofa.

“What time is it?”

“Quite late. About nine or so.”

“Then I’m off to bed!” Prompto announced cheerfully. He promptly smacked into the hallway wall. “Night!” He stepped away, still grinning as he rubbed his shoulder. “Thanks for the movie! Sound you tomorrow, Igster!”

“’ _Sound’_ me?” A pause: “ _Igster_?”

“Do I _really_ have to explain the joke? I think it’s funny.”

“Of course you do.”

Prompto saluted to him, still grinning. “Night, Igster!”

“Good night, Prompto,” Ignis called, voice warm and heart warmer. As he made his way to switch on the lights and begin preparations to sleep, a tiny flickering light caught his attention.

Prompto had left his phone behind. Ignis stared at it for what felt like many seconds, watching the notification light pulse on and off. It was on the arm of the sofa, and it was _so_ close…

Surely Prompto wouldn’t notice if he took just a peek? Just to unlock it. That was all Ignis would do.

Turning on the screen, Ignis entered the password – capital ‘n’, a zero instead of an ‘o’ – and shut his eyes at the home screen. That picture again, of the four of them all beaming, during happier times.

If Ignis had known that those few months would have been the best of his life… the last that he had with _sight_ … he would have cherished them far more than he did.

Alas, hindsight was a wondrous gift. Ignis brought down the status bar; the light had been notification of an email, and a spam one at that, judging from the ‘TOP FIVE SECRETS TO…’ header sprayed across the top.

Sighing, he swiped it off and made to lock the screen. In his haste, his thumb smacked the ‘messages’ icon; rows of texts loaded at once. He couldn’t stop his eyes from scrolling down the screen. The most recent messages, ignoring the ones Ignis had sent to Gladio, were to…

Ignis made a soft noise.

They were to… _Noct_?

Three simple words: _‘and im sorry’._

He stared, for what felt like many seconds. Curiosity purred in his ear; _take a peek,_ it told him. _Prompto won’t know otherwise. Just keep mum. It’ll be fine._

_You’ll only look at a few messages. It’ll be fine._

Another part of him hissed; _what are you **doing** , _it demanded. _Stop this! You have no right! He trusts precious few people as it is, do you want him to have yet another reason to trust no one?_

But it would nag him for the rest of days; what business did Prompto have, communicating with a best friend long gone? Unless it was someone else he had nicknamed Noct, for whatever godly reason.

He had to _know_.

Before he could stop himself, Ignis pressed his finger on Noct’s icon; a picture of him smiling, the sunrise behind him somehow dimming in comparison to his bright grin.

Ignis’s heart was racing.

_To:  noct noct_

_-11/5/00-_

_[01:19AM] had another nightmare lmao sorry to bother u_

_i mean i know youre Dead and stuff but_

_sorry anyway_

_just cant stop thinking about stuff_

_Love Anxiety_

_Especially When You Had No Medication for Ten Years_

_LOVE IT_

_along with everything else but. Not Tonight (¬_ _▂_ _¬)_

_god noct i miss you so much_

_why were u the one who had to die_

_i mean people actually like u_

_don’t argue with me on this youre the KING people love you more that’s a Fact_

_pretty sure people don’t attack you over a tattoo amirite_

_man i’m glad you’re not alive to read this shit_

_-CALL-_

_Why am I like this._

_Why am I so. Fucking Worthless._

_Why wasn’t the I the one who_

_-This message has been removed.-_

_-This message has been removed.-_

_sorry lmaoooooooo you, uh, didn’t need to see that_

_anyway, gotta go. got a hunt with iggy tomorrow_

_today_

_¯\\_(_ _ツ)_/¯_

_i know he only puts up with me cause of u but. its nice to pretend that he doesnt hate my guts_

_not that i can blame him_

_EHHHHHHH_

_night noct, love you_

_and im sorry_

Ignis tilted his head back, the phone hanging loose in his hand. All of this… he’d suspected; by _Astrals_ he had suspected, but seeing all of this…

It was too much.

A single question niggled at him: why had Prompto called? Was Noct’s number even in service?

He glanced down again. Well, he’d come this far already…

With a dry throat and a heart full of regret, Ignis pressed the call button. The dial tone was deafening in the room; after the final ring, there was a click:

“ _Heeeeey_ ,” drawled Prompto’s teenage voice, perhaps the happiest Ignis had ever heard him. _“This –“_ He exploded into giggles— “ _this is the voicemail of Noctis Lucis Suckelum—“_

_“I hate you so much, give it back!”_ Noct bellowed, voice shaking with laughter. Hearing him speak, hearing him _laugh_ , was enough to wind Ignis. He sank down onto the sofa, squeezing shut prickling eyes, as the message continued.

_“And I announce a royal degree that I **suck**.”_

Noct broke into maniacal laughter.

A loud thud: “ _Hey, dude! Don’t shove me into the wall!”_

_“Change my voicemail, then! I can’t – I can’t keep **this**!”_

_“Ohhh, c’mon, I’m sure no one’s gonna mind_ —“

Noct’s next words came out high and strangled. _“You kiddin’!? **Everyone** is gonna mind!”_

From nearby, Ignis heard a door opening. It was from the voicemail, most likely, even as his heart pounded even harder than before. Gods, if Prompto was to catch him…

He wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t.

_“Anyway!”_ Prompto sang. _“If you need to leave a message for me, the Great King of Suckness, please leave it after the tone!”_

_“There isn’t a tone!”_

_“Yeah, ‘cause we’re still recording. **Duh.** You wanna say something?”_

_“…Yeah, actually.”_ There was a shuffling noise, of a phone being exchanged between hands. _“This is Noctis Lucis **Suckelum** —“ _Prompto’s off-screen giggling was impossible to ignore— _“and I formally announce that I have the best friend imaginable.”_

_“W-what?”_ There was scrambling. _“Noct—“_

_“He’s funny and great and kind and the best and he doesn’t realise how good he is and I wish he would.”_

A loud thudding noise: _“D-dude, this is a joke voicemail! It ain’t serious!”_

_“Well, I think everyone who calls me should know just what an amazing best friend I have.”_

_“Hehe…”_

_“Whadda laughing at?”_

_“You, dude. Man, you’re such a sap.”_ A small thud.

_“Don’t punch so hard, I’m only stating facts.”_

_“Buddy, I don’t know what source you’re using, but it’s clearly unreliable.”_

_“You saying that **I’m** unreliable?”_

_“N-no, no! I just – stop laughing!”_

Another door opened, much closer this time. Ignis glanced up at the pouring of light into the dark room, right in the single panicked eye that greeted him.

_“No **way** is Dad gonna let me keep this voicemail_—“

“What,” Prompto whispered, “are you _doing?”_

Prompto’s voice, twelve years younger, sang out from the tinny speaker. “ _Good thing I changed the password, huh?”_

The door creaked shut.

_“Thanks for being my best friend, Prompto.”_

It was useless now, but Ignis’s finger hit the ‘end call’ button. He sat there, his face illuminated by the phone screen, the only bright light in the room. Outside, the late sunset loomed, painting the room in a haze coloured like blood.

Prompto was still.

There was an awful silence. Despite possessing only one eye and a hideous scar, Prompto went through a multitude of emotions Ignis had never seen on Prompto’s own face; disbelief, from a single blown pupil, then a flash of disappointment that ripped Ignis’s heart apart, before his teeth bared and his eye narrowed in the most dreadful anger Ignis remembered ever witnessing.

He swallowed.

“Prompto—“

“The _hell_ were you doin’!?” Prompto roared, his voice as furious as Ignis had ever heard it. He knew that he deserved it, he fully well deserved it, and so he allowed Prompto to yank the mobile from his hand.

“I—“

“I asked you,” Prompto whispered, clutching the device between his hands tightly enough that his knuckles went white. The screen was still lit; Ignis could see the messages to Noct on the screen, taunting him. _Look at what you’ve ruined_ , the voice from before whispered _, all because you couldn’t respect your friend’s privacy._ “I asked you not to look at my phone!”

“I know you did,” Ignis said. The words came out broken. “I _know_ you did.”

“Then _why_!?”

Silence.

The phone screen darkened.

“The messages—“ Prompto’s teeth rattled in his clenched jaw. The scar on his – _Ignis’s_ – bottom lip stretched. “For _once_ , be honest with me. Did you look at them?”

Ignis nodded. He remembered, too many seconds later, that Prompto couldn’t see. “I did,” he whispered.

Prompto gripped a hand in his hair, tight enough to hurt. Ignis still said nothing. He couldn’t, not with how tightly terror tugged at his neck. “I thought I could _trust_ you.” Prompto’s words sounded as though he was ripping them from his lungs, hot, heavy gushes of air that echoed in the room. “I – I thought – of _all people_ —“

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.” The door slammed against the opposing wall. Harsh light poured in, making Ignis squint. “Forget it!”

“Prompto—“

“Don’t touch me! D-don’t!”

“Prompto, _please_ —“

“Don’t you DARE!” Prompto’s entire body was shaking against the doorframe, but for every step that Ignis took, he stumbled three backwards. His left fist thudded the hollow wall. “Stop it! Stop it!”

Panic seized him; Ignis lurched forward, his fingers gripping Prompto’s right wrist—

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Prompto screamed. It was the most broken sound Ignis had ever heard.

His hands flew out and shoved Ignis into the wall. Ignis caught himself just in time, wrist bending as he pushed himself off the wall. Prompto had, at some point, pushed himself against the wall, right wrist gripped so tightly against his chest that Ignis could see his left knuckles going white. His entire body was quivering, trembling and heaving with too-quick breathes, single eye twitching blindly.

Ignis’s footstep echoed in the silence, along with Prompto’s rapid breathing.

“You’re not real,” Prompto whispered to himself. “You’re not real you’re not him you’re not real you’re not him you’re _not_ —“

“Prompto?”

Before the name even fully left his mouth, Prompto was whimpering, shaking his head furiously. His hand slammed against the wall.

“I’m – I’m not falling for it. I’m not. Not again. Not anymore.”

“Prompto, _please_ —“

“Stop it!” he snarled. There was a desperate fury in his eye, in his shaking fists, in the scuffle of his feet against the floor, of a man who had nothing left and would give everything to keep it. Rock bottom could be a comfort when you knew that you couldn’t sink any further. “Stop – stop pretending! I – I can’t even _see_ you! Stop pretending!”

Ignis swallowed. He didn’t know what to do. If he spoke, Prompto yelled over him. If he touched him – well.

That was why they were in this situation to begin with.

They must have stood there for eternity before Prompto spoke, his next words tore out of his lungs: “ _Well_!?” he barked, voice wet and throaty. “What do you want now!? What _else_ could you want!?”

Heart breaking, Ignis licked his lips, shut his eyes, and remembered how to breathe. “What do _you_ want?” he countered, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. All noise stopped.

“…Stop it,” Prompto whispered. “Stop – stop messing with me. You’re not real.” His voice was so horribly shattered. His grip on his wrist slackened, just a little. “You can’t be. I can’t – you’re not…” He trailed off, sounding dazed, and there was a wounded type of hope in his eye. It made Ignis’s heart _bleed._

“What can I do,” Ignis began, remembering a dream from what felt like a lifetime ago. “What can I do, Prompto, to convince you that I’m real?”

Prompto sucked in a sharp breath. His trembling increased.

“You can’t be real,” Prompto whispered. “Or – or maybe you’re right. Maybe _I’m_ the fake.”

“Prompto..?”

“ _Stop it_!” he roared again. “I can’t see you, but I sure as hell can hear you! I’m – I’m the real one! Okay!? I’m – I’m – I’m _not_ a MT!”

“Pr—“

“I’m human,” Prompto whispered. He sounded as though he had been attempting to convince himself of his words for a very long time. “I’m human. I’m real. You can – you can say whatever crap you want. I’m human. I’m _real._ ”

It hit Ignis, all at once; he stumbled back with a gasp. That nightmare, the one with Gladio in it—

_Gods_. He wanted to vomit.

He was having a flashback, most likely, to isolated cells and an unbearable darkness that none of them knew anything about. And of _course_ Ignis was only making it worse – Prompto couldn’t see, not as he was now, and the only voice that he could hear was his own parroting back at him. Ignis knew that he wouldn’t be well, either, if he could see nothing, _feel_ nothing, nothing but his own voice ringing in the silence.

He didn’t know what to _do._ But Prompto’s breaths were growing more haggard, catching in his lungs, and rattling when they did manage to splutter out. He had to do _something_.

“Prompto, I’m Ignis.”

“You’re not—“

“We swapped bodies. I’m Ignis. I promise.”

Slowly, so very slowly, Prompto lowered his fist. He glanced at him from over Ignis’ visor, an awful look in his eye that Ignis couldn’t – _didn’t_ – want to understand. It was the haunted look of someone who had been let down, again and again and _again_ , but could never quite lose all their hope. Someone who still believed in kindness, in the good of people, in _others_ , despite it all.

Ignis swallowed.

“What,” he repeated, softer this time, “do you want?”

Prompto opened his mouth. Shut it. The lump in his throat bobbed. Somehow, Ignis knew exactly what he was going to say.

“T-tell me something,” he whispered. “Something that – that only you’d know. That only _Ignis_ would know.”

Through the glass of the front door window, the sunlight was jagged, the blood red haze absorbed by the thin layer of dust upon most of Ignis’ belongings. Outside, he could hear the distant cries of suburban birds, of construction workers yelling banter at one another, of the low whirls of machinery, of the world carrying on, with or without them.

He swallowed again.

“I woke up three days after Leviathan’s… rampage—“ His hand ghosted to his eye on instinct. For a spilt second, his face burned— “I asked you a favour.” Ignis sank down into the sofa, too exhausted to stand. Prompto came away from the wall, only a little. “I asked you to track down some sunglasses. Gladio had – made himself scarce, claiming to help with the repairs. We both knew that he was looking for any traces of Lady Lunafreya.”

Prompto’s fist loosened at his side. His body unwound, just a smidgen.

“You didn’t come back until late evening. I was – worried, I shan’t lie, but then you came through the doorway and told me, in your meekest voice, that you had found something that might be suitable.” He let out a quiet laugh, finger reaching up to rim around glasses that weren’t there. “You apologised for taking so long, as though I hadn’t asked you to perform a task of great magnitude for no reason other than vanity.”

“It wasn’t for vanity,” Prompto whispered, his voice barely above a croak. “You – you didn’t want other people to see it. Your scar. As if it was something to be ashamed of.”

“At the time, it certainly was. A reminder of how useless I was.” Prompto winced. “I was thankful beyond words, Prompto. Not just for that, but for _everything_ you’ve done for us all. We all appreciate it much more than you will ever realise.”

Ignis swallowed, and made to speak before Prompto could deny any of his words. “You brought us garulessandwiches. They were Noct’s favourite. You’d made them yourself. You removed the crusts from mine. You didn’t put any lettuce into Noct’s, although you ended up giving that sandwich to an orphaned child in the streets during your late night walk. I don’t think you ate at all that day.”

Silence, for a long, yawning moment, then Prompto shuddered like a poorly-oiled machine; he ran a shaky hand through his hair, jolting when his fingers touched the frame of Ignis’s visor. His hand ghosted the wall behind him.

“…Where are we?” he whispered.

“My apartment.”

Prompto frowned. His movements were languished. Ignis stood up and headed towards him.

“Why..?”

“We switched bodies, remember?” he whispered, keeping his voice low but urgent. “We were hunting a monster – you described it as a ‘clown snake’ – and we switched bodies. Do you remember?”

“I…”

That’s why you can’t see,” Ignis continued. “That’s why I have your voice.”

His eye was dry. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You have _nothing_ to be sorry for.” Ignis swallowed, clenching his fist. “If anything, _I_ should apologise. I was… unaware, that touching your wrist would cause such a reaction.”

He _had_ known, though, and that was the worst part of this all. He _had_ known, better than most people. He’d experienced the memories. And even without that, the fact that Prompto still covered it up, ten years on, was enough damning evidence.

“Sorry,” Prompto repeated, voice broken. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologise for.”

Prompto gritted his teeth, twisting his head towards Ignis. “Nothing, huh? _Nothing?_ I – I just had a major freak out on you for no reason!” he snapped, and perhaps if his voice hadn’t broken halfway through, the tone would have been angry. They both caught the wet words; Prompto sighed, turning away as quickly as he had turned towards him, his shoulders tensing. “I just – I couldn’t _see_ , and then you – you touched _there_ , and it was _my_ voice, and I…” He swallowed again. “Sorry.”

“Can I…” Ignis swallowed down his discomfort. “What do you need?”

“I… just want to sleep.” Prompto’s voice was very small. He grasped his right wrist loosely, blind eye staring at memories Ignis may or may not have seen. For both of their sakes, he hoped that he would never know.

Oh, if only if he had known.

“Do you want me to take the sofa?”

He didn’t look up. “No.”

They went without a word and spoke not a word as they climbed into bed, not even a whispered ‘good night’ before Ignis switched off the lights. Prompto was too still, his breathing too steady. Every creak of the bed, every groan the mattress made, was deafening.

Ignis rolled over, his back facing Prompto, eyes staring at the mesmenir curtains. The quilt scrunched under his fist, wrinkling in the silence. He spread out his arm, as far it could go, and it thumped the empty space between them both.

_I’m sorry, Noct_ , he thought, and at once he didn’t and did know exactly what he was apologising for.

The moon was high in the sky by the time he had drifted off, sleep dragging him into another memory he was never meant to recall.

* * *

 

The first sound Ignis heard was Noct’s laughter, ringing out from down a long corridor. The second was the click of a bathroom door locking behind Prompto.

Of course, Ignis recognised immediately where they were; Noct’s apartment, so Prompto must have been between late seventeen and early nineteen in this particular memory,

Ignis’s mind froze when he heard his own laugher; much quieter than Noct’s own, barely audible from inside the bathroom, but still there. It wasn’t often that he had been at Noct’s apartment when both he and Prompto had been there; Prompto had only started visiting with Ignis there when he was eighteen, and only because Noct had forced him. Prompto had been _terrified_ that Ignis would hate him, when truthfully, all Ignis wanted was to meet the boy who had made Noct smile so openly and laugh so loudly. Noct’s happiness was a gift more precious than any treasure and just as scarce.

He allowed himself to sink back into the memory, not wanting to miss a moment of it. _Finally_ , a memory that wasn’t awful.

He had thought too soon.

Prompto’s hand was over his stomach, tugging and pulling at fat that only he could see. Ignis certainly couldn’t. Prompto’s heart was hammering, uncomfortably loud, and his stomach was so _full_ and he did _not_ feel good.

His eyes darted over the large room, to the bathtub tucked in the corner that could easily hold four, to the sink that had been scrubbed spotless by Ignis, along with the rest of the room. Prompto’s feet stumbled over towards it, stomach churning, and he turned on both taps at full volume. The gushing noises drowned out the voices of Noct and Ignis.

Why in the _Six_ would Prompto have ever needed to turn on both taps?

Prompto went scurrying through the bathroom cupboards with familiar ease, pulling out a bottle of blench. He scuttled over to the door, triple-checking that it was locked, blood rushing in his ears as he went back to the bleach and shoved it next to the toilet.

He stood up again, completely still, and then his hands went to his school shirt and yanked upwards. Before it had even gone fully up, the sheer _force_ of self-hatred, the bitterness and anger that pulsed through his every vein, made Ignis recoil. Not _once_ , not even in his darkest moments, had he ever hated himself this much. _Never_.

_Nothing. Pathetic. Fat. Useless. **Worthless.**_

Prompto sank to his knees in front of the toilet seat and pushed it up. Ignis desperately hoped, no matter how futile it was, that whatever he thought was going to happen would not happen.

The taps were still running behind them.

_You’ll never be good enough. Doesn’t matter how skinny you are. No one wants you._

Shaking, Prompto bit his lip, before inhaling and sitting up on his knees. The bones in his joints cracked.

_You’re not human. Never have been, never will be._

Prompto gripped the toilet’s edge with his left hand, shoved the fingers of his other one down his throat, and retched.

The next few seconds, or minutes, maybe, _Gods_ Ignis hoped that they weren’t minutes, passed in a daze, as though Prompto had gone used to doing this so many times. Maybe he had. Ignis’s heart, somehow, was twisting worse than before. He had done – _this_ , Gods knew how many times, and none – _none of them_ had ever suspected anything amiss.

_I **am** human, _Prompto’s mind supplied as his arms draped around the edge of the toilet seat. The sharp scent of his own vomit wafted strong. It made his stomach churn again, but there was nothing to bring up. _W **hatever I am** \- they wouldn’t be this messed up. They wouldn’t make themselves throw up. They wouldn’t think stuff like – like **this**._

In a weird way, it made sense. He could control this, and – _this_ – well. He was pretty sure that only humans did this kind of stuff. What sort of… well, _whatever_ he was, did this kind of stuff? When did you ever read about… things like _him_ , hating themselves? Making themselves vomit?

He wasn’t a human. He wasn’t a machine. But then, what the hell _was_ he?

Trembling, Prompto pushed himself up from where he had been slumped over the seat, throat stinging, his entire body exhausted. His knees clattered together as he stood to flush the toilet. Then, he emptied some bleach into the toilet, only a small amount, and scrubbed it with the toilet brush until it was shiny clean. Outside, birds chirped. A dog barked in the distance. The world carried on, uncaring of the individuals within it that were frozen in time.

_You really think that’ll make any difference? No one wants you. Not even your own parents._

_Shut up, Almeta_ , his mind hissed back.

If anything, his mother’s taunting voice spoke louder: _You’re not human—_

_SHUT UP._

He scrubbed his hands under the scalding tap until his skin began to ache, then gargled down mouthwash until all he could taste was minty freshness suffocating his airway. Blinking away the sting in his eyes, he turned off the taps. He wiped his hands on a towel, unlocked the door, and headed out.

Noct was slouched on the sofa, grinning and turning around when Prompto appeared at the doorframe. “Geez, you took _forever_ ,” he said, punching Prompto’s shoulder as he sat down next to him. “You always spend that long fixing up your hair?”

Oh Gods he hadn’t checked his hair _he hadn’t checked his hair_. Prompto preened. It felt like there were worms crawling over his skin, inside his stomach, and he still wanted to vomit. “Hey, this is completely natural!”

Noct rolled his eyes, throwing the controller in his hand to Prompto. “Sure it is. Want a round?”

“You bet!” What he _really_ wanted was to curl up in his bed and maybe die, but he didn’t dare say that. Noct had a hell of a lot worse stuff to deal with. His dad, his studies, _becoming the king…_ and what did Prompto have? A fucked up brain?

Yeah, that was nothing compared to Noct’s struggles. At least Noct had _reasons_ for feeling the way he did. Prompto just apparently couldn’t even get a functioning brain, even though he was popped out of a test tube and you’d think they would have, you know, given him a brain that didn’t give him daily reminders of how worthless and pathetic he was.

He was fine, most days. He really was. Days like this… were just hard. It’d been _so long_ since he last did… _that._

Ignis’s head popped around the door, his bowl cut falling over his eyes and slim glasses. Ignis’s throat went dry at seeing _himself_ , so young. Even from here, he could see the shadowed bags under his eyes, the tenseness in his shoulders that came from a long-carried exhaustion. It was funny; Ignis had thought he had hidden it much better. Faint make-up was powdered on his cheeks, hiding the ache outbreaks Ignis had always been prone to. “Any more for either of you?”

“Dude, I’m stuffed!” Prompto groaned. “That’s the most filling birthday cake _ever_.”

Ignis raised an eyebrow, looking faintly amused. “Glad to hear you enjoyed it.”

“I’ll take another slice,” Noct said. His eyes glanced over to Prompto. “Sure you don’t want another?”

“Positive.” Prompto smacked Noct’s shoulder. “It’s your nineteenth, man. Don’t let plebs like me eat your cake.”

“You’re not a pleb,” Noct snapped, his eyes hard, before he sighed and dragged a hand over his face. “How many times do I have to _say_ that?”

Guilt twisted in Prompto’s heart. “Uh—”

“Just cake for you, then, Noct?” Ignis interrupted softly. When he looked at Prompto, gaze steely, there was an emotion in his eyes that Prompto couldn’t make out. Too soft to be pity, too kind to be patronisation.

Ignis remembered what he had thought, in that moment. He had looked at Prompto – really looked, at the slender fingers, at the red marks on his right knuckles, at the blood-ringed eyes, and had thought: _You struggle with so much more than what we will ever know._

“Yeah,” Noct said. He pressed the controller harder into Prompto’s hands. “C’mon, this is the shooting round. You know how much I suck at them.”

“A _lot_.”

Noct nodded gravely. “It’s up to you, Prompto.”

Prompto threw himself onto the sofa, lounging across it. He made sure to leave enough room for when Ignis would eventually come in and sit with them, after he got bored doing the household chores that Noct _really_ should have been doing.

He was jealous, in a way. Not that he’d ever admit it. It must have been nice, having someone who cared enough to look out for you like that, who scolded you and gave you reminders to do work and _loved_ you and—

He bit his lip. “Yeah,” Prompto said, and his voice didn’t even come out watery. He was getting good at this. “Yeah, let’s go. I won’t let you down!”

“You never could,” Noct said softly.

* * *

 

Prompto was sitting on the edge of the bed when Ignis awoke, a soft mechanical voice coming out of the tinny phone speakers. Ignis peered over, just far enough to see that Prompto had his own mobile in his hands. His eyes darted over to the bedside table; there was his, and when he unlocked the screen, there was no guiding voice to inform him of where his applications were. His background image was of a seafront that could have been plucked from any beach in Eos. His message icon had a ‘1’ flashing next to it.

His heart ached. He thought, briefly, then not so briefly, about how long Prompto must have been awake for. How long he must have spent, jabbing random buttons until he somehow managed to access Ignis’ settings. How determined he must have been, to ensure that Ignis wouldn’t touch his mobile ever again.

Trust was a fickle thing, hard earned and easily broken. How foolish Ignis had been.

“Mornin’,” Prompto murmured. “Changed your phone back.”

“Thank you,” Ignis said. Neither of them addressed the catoblepas in the room. The reason why Prompto had made the change. “Do you…” He swallowed. “Do you wish to talk about last night?”

“Nah,” Prompto said immediately. “I don’t.”

Ignis nodded. Silence suffocated them.

“You got a message last night. I didn’t look.”

The words winded him greater than an iron giant’s blade. “Thank you,” Ignis murmured, much quieter than before, and unlocked his device again. He hit the notifications bar; it was from Gladio, much to no one’s surprise.

_From: Gladio_

_-22/05/00-_

_[23:17] don’t forget about the anniversary next week. drag prom with you._

Biting back an amused smile, Ignis was quick to reply.

_To: Gladio_

_-23/05/00-_

_[07:34] I could never forget, and I will do my best to bring Prom with me._

Once he sent it, he locked his phone and set it on the bedside table.

The bed groaned under Prompto as he flopped back, resting an arm over his eyes. His fingers curled and loosened around his phone, before he allowed it to drop onto the bed. Ignis’s gaze darted to it for less than a second; guilt choked his heart and forced him to look away.

He didn’t want to bring it up, but…

Thankfully, he didn’t have to. Prompto never had been one for long silences, not when he was around people; he sprayed his fingers wide and peeked at Ignis from between them, even though it was futile. The sight of that milky eye didn’t disgust Ignis as much as it used to. Indeed, he could even stare at _that_ for a few seconds, only glancing away when Prompto spoke.

Was he getting too used to sight? It wasn’t a thought he cared to linger on.

“Did you have a dream?” he asked, voice low.

“I did.”

Prompto’s lips thinned.

“Figured,” he mumbled into his hand. He groaned and let both hands flop onto the covers with soft thuds. “I had one, too.”

Silence. Ignis’s mind worked through a thousand possible replies, from “you made yourself throw up in your dream and I’m quite worried, to put it mildly” to “what did _you_ dream of”.

“You and Gladio get on really well.” Prompto’s voice was wistful. “I mean, given that you guys used to, y’know, date. And stuff.”

_Well,_ Ignis thought, _that answers one of my questions._

“We were young,” he said. His mind trailed back to those days from almost two decades past; of Gladio’s roaring laughter, back when they were both young and thought that they could handle anything. Back when they didn’t know that they served a king destined to die, a boy who never had a chance to truly live. “We both knew that it wasn’t – serious.”

“Hmm.” Prompto’s head rubbed against the bedding in a small shake. “I dunno, seemed pretty serious to me.”

“And what would _you_ know of relationships?” Ignis snapped – and regretted, immediately and immensely. Prompto’s smile widened. It was a hideous sight.

“Yeah, what _would_ I know,” he said mildly. The bedding wrinkled under his clenched fists. “What would I know.”

“Prompto—“

With a dramatic huff, Prompto rolled over onto his stomach, bare feet kicking off the edge of the bed. Even in Ignis’s body, he looked so _young_ in that single moment, before his shoulders seemed to sag under invisible grief only the two of them were privy to. “What did _you_ dream of?” he asked, tone almost accusatory.

Ignis opened his mouth. Shut it. Prompto’s face softened.

“You don’t need to lie,” he whispered. “Just – spit it out.”

“It was the three of us, at Noct’s apartment. It was his birthday, I believe. His nineteenth. Gladio didn’t come by until late that evening; he had been busy with other duties.” Prompto let out a low hiss, clenching his teeth and shutting his eyes. He ducked his head, as though preparing for the killer blow Ignis would deliver. Perhaps he already knew just what Ignis was going to say. “You…” The words clogged in his throat.

Suddenly, Prompto’s head snapped up, and he was rolling off the bed—

“I’ll make breakfast, you want—“

“You made yourself vomit on purpose,” Ignis blurted out.

The silence was deafening. Many seconds later, Prompto thudded onto the bed, his back facing Ignis. His fingers dragged through his hair.

“I was _really_ hopin’ you weren’t gonna see that,” he whispered.

“Do you want to talk—“

Prompto’s hand slammed the bedding. “What do you _think_?” he snapped, muscles in his neck twisting as he turned.

Another silence. Prompto sighed, for a long moment, and laid back on the bed.

“I—“ he trailed off, his milky eye staring at Ignis. It was definitely easier, somehow, to look at that scar. Ignis shivered. They _needed_ to return to their original bodies before long. He didn’t want to grow too comfortable with sight, to grow lax and familiar with such a vital sense. It would make it all the crueller for when he would inevitably have to give it up.

Prompto sighed. “I guess I can tell you,” he mumbled. “If you _really_ want me to.”

“I do,” Ignis said immediately. “But only if you are comfortable doing so.”

“I mean, you’ve already seen my phone,” Prompto said, with no small amount of bitterness in his words. Ignis winced. “You already know. I can tell you this much.”

“Prompto…”

Sheets shuffled as Prompto fell back onto the bed, his back thumping softly against the old mattress. He rested his hands on his stomach, drumming his fingers against it in thought. “I guess I had – I don’t know, some kind of… _eating_ _disorder_ —“ His face twisted, as though admitting such ‘weakness’ (not that it was one, of course) was too much for him. And maybe it was. Prompto, for all of his chatter and friendliness, had always guarded himself fiercely. “—It was – pretty much gone, by the time we left for Altissia.”

Ignis stretched his tongue over his lips. “…Do you know when it started?”

“Probably about fourteen, fifteen?” Prompto hummed, his hands twisting together so tightly that the knuckles went white. Despite that, he kept his voice as light as possible. “It wasn’t _that_ bad. You guys had it wo—“

“Prompto.”

His mouth snapping shut was the only noise in the silence. Groaning, he leaned his head against the pillow. "I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“How to…” Another sigh. “How to really put this into words.”

“Did you ever…” Ignis trailed off. He should leave it. There was no point in dredging up a painful topic, no point bring up wounds over a decade old if they had long since healed.

Still. A bit of him was uncomfortable, leaving it at that. The times where Prompto opened up about himself were as rare as the times Cor was spotted with a smile on his face. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to be able to easily bring up this topic again. No doubt that Prompto was already regretting it horribly, judging from the deep crease between his eyebrows, and _goodness_ , had Ignis’s own frown always looked that intense?

Gladio wouldn’t have left it. He would have picked at it, prodded and nudged until every last word had been wrung out. It was a trait of his that was equal parts admirable and detestable.

He inhaled through his nose. Prompto was watching him with a wary eye, as well as a blind man could.

“Did you ever seek professional help?” he asked, voice dropping low at the end. Prompto winced, resting a hand over his face and turning it away from Ignis.

“Nah. But, really, I’m over it.”

One didn’t just ‘get over’ mental illnesses. Goodness knew how worse off Ignis would have been if Gladio hadn’t been there to help him through the worst of his anxiety, back during those teenage years.

He hummed.

“Can I ask a question?”

Prompto grinned. Ignis’s skin crawled.  “You just did, but sure, go for it.”

“Do you…” Ignis clicked his tongue from one gum to the other. “Forgive me if this comes off as insensitive in any way, but do you know what caused it?”

“I’d…” Prompto glanced away, back hunched. “I’d rather not talk about that.”

“That’s fine,” Ignis said immediately. After all, he already knew the answer.

His stomach twisted and gurgled. Ignis made a pained noise, hand resting over the sudden fire. Prompto turned around.

“Stomach pains?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ignis hissed through clenched teeth. Then, as soon as they had begun, the pain faded away, leaving him feeling oddly empty. “They’re… gone?”

“Oh, yeah, sometimes that just happens.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t sweat it.”

“Have you always had them..?”

“Hey, what happened to that being the last question?” Prompto asked, but he was grinning and didn’t look like he minded at all. Ignis didn’t dare look at him for too long. He wondered, briefly, and then not so briefly, if this was how friendships closer than the bonds between family started to end. “Nah, they started when I was… sixteen or so? Shortly after the… _you know what_ started.”

“I see.”

“I mean, like, I tried to ignore it, but it just kept getting worse and worse. And I couldn’t afford to miss classes because, y’know, my scholarship and stuff. Had to keep my attendance up.”

“And no one… _noticed_?” Ignis raised his eyebrows. “No one raised any concerns about your general state when you first went to see a doctor about the stomach pains?”

“If you weren’t from Insomnia, they didn’t really care about you.” Prompto glanced over a couple of seconds later. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” Ignis said softly. Insomnia’s rather… xenophobic attitude to outsiders had been the city’s worst kept secret. And while Prompto had only ever been listed as a refugee, his birth place of Niflheim not listed on any documents, it wasn’t difficult to deduce his origins. Precious few Insomnians had blond hair, and even fewer had skin as pale as Prompto’s own. Nothing ever stated that he wasn’t from Insomnia, but there hadn’t been anything that stated that he _was_ , either, and people were quick to form their own unshakable assumptions.

With the threat of war, all those issues had been quietly swept under the rug. This new Insomnia – this new _Eos_ – wouldn’t be the same as the last. Ignis wouldn’t allow it.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Prompto snorted. “Dude, it was hardly your fault.” Still, his mouth twitched into an unhappy line.  “And it really wasn’t that bad. You saw how much muscle I had, right? It’s all cool.” He yawned, exaggerating it greatly, and stretched his hands over his head. “ _Anyway_. Enough of me. Breakfast?”

“Gladly,” Ignis said, but couldn’t help the feeling that more had been unsaid than spoken. Prompto _had_ talked, true, which he was grateful for, but he had skittered and glided his way through it all with speed matching his own sprint.

It was a bare bones talk, revealing nothing Ignis hadn’t already suspected. He was surprised, truthfully, that Prompto had even said that much after last night. That he hadn’t gotten up and stormed out of the room without another word.

Prompto pushed the covers from over him, making to leave the bed. Before he could stop himself, Ignis spoke.

“Thank you for telling me,” he whispered, hoping that even a fragment of his gratitude made it into his voice. “I know that it couldn’t have been easy.”

For a few seconds, Prompto said nothing, his back to Ignis. The sunlight filtered in through the tiny gaps in the curtains.

Prompto’s entire body seemed to deflate, his shoulders sagging. “...Sorry.”

Ignis frowned. “Whatever for?”

Saying nothing, Prompto just sighed again and stood up, stubbing his toe against the dresser. “Forget it. Sorry. Thanks for listening.”

Before he could walk out of the door and bury the topic for the rest of time, Ignis pushed himself off the bed. “Prompto.”

He stopped, humming and turning his head around, even though the action was in vain. “Yeah?”

“Promise me something.”

“Sure?” came Prompto’s confused reply.

“If you – if you feel _any_ hints of it coming back, anything at all, tell someone. _Anyone_.”

It was too long before Prompto next spoke: “Sure,” he vowed, and Ignis knew that it was the only promise Prompto would ever break. “You got it.”

Ignis’s heart did not ease.

* * *

 

The day went by slowly. That night, Ignis heard Prompto go out onto the tiny porch on the front door, and followed when too long had passed. He stepped out through the already-opened door; Prompto turned to him, fingers clenching around a white stick in his mouth.

 Ignis saw red.

“Don’t you _dare_!” he snarled, yanking the cigarette out of his mouth and watching it roll onto the pavement. It wasn’t lit.

“I wasn’t actually smoking,” Prompto snapped. An empty cigarette packet scrunched in his tightening fist, and all Ignis could think was _good_.

“It was in your mouth.”

“This is _your_ body,” Prompto said, voice slightly high. “I’m not _that_ much of a moron. I’m not gonna go smoking in other people’s bodies.”

“I’m glad you have _some_ standards,” Ignis snapped, his stomach twisting as soon as he had said the words. He wanted to take them back, shove them down his throat ( _not the best comparison, not after that dream_ ) into what dark, wretched place they had torn themselves from.

Silence, then:

“The hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” Prompto whirled around on the step, his hand smacking Ignis’s shoulder, although not on purpose. “Coming from the person who went into _my_ phone without asking, that’s kinda rich.”

“Would you get _over_ that?” Ignis hissed before he could stop himself.

“I’d get over it if you hadn’t done it to begin with!” Prompto took a deep breath, dragging his hands over his face, and groaned. He let them drop and then shouldered past Ignis. “Forget it,” he snapped. “For- _get_ it.”

“I’m sorry.” Prompto stopped. “You know I hate smoking.”

Resting a hand on the doorframe, Prompto turned, slowly, until Ignis could see the scar staring at him from over his shoulder. He took a long breath and forced himself to look at it, at the blotch of scar tissue darkened by the bright sunset.

“Yeah,” Prompto sighed. “I do.” His hand fell to his side.

Most of Ignis’ childhood memories had the distinct smell of burning nicotine. Of his mother, shooing him back inside after he tracked her down, promising that she’d play with him as soon as she finished, sweetheart, just give me more five minutes?

She had always said that. And during the rare nights that she tucked him in, flattened the pillows and shook out the quilt, she smothered his forehead in smoke-filled kisses that suffocated his lungs.

Even rarer were the nights that she would read to him – poems, mainly. She loved them – one of the very few interests Ignis shared with her – and would always pull the same dog-earred book from underneath his pillow on the nights she bothered to come. One poem in particular stood out in his memories; of wild geese heading home, of the world going on despite your own despair, of _nature_.

_“You do not have to be good,”_ she would always start, grey hair shining in his bedroom light. Ignis would watch the puffs of smoke curl from her mouth and think that, no, you did not have to be good at all. Goodness knew that she hadn’t been.

His father had never done anything. The few times Ignis had brought it up, he had insisted that it wasn’t an issue, that his mother just needed to unwind, she’s just busy and very stressed; go to bed, Iggs, she’ll be in soon.

Then the both of them had died in the line of duty, and, well. She had never smoked again. Her brother had taken Ignis in, and he hated smoking even more than Ignis did. Until Prompto had somehow fallen into the habit, about four years ago, Ignis had never needed to be close to a cigarette again.

He inhaled. The sweet summer air was a sharp freshness in his lungs. The sunlight peered through the branches of trees, through slits in-between buildings and glistening off the windows of skyscrapers. It was a glorious evening.

He turned back. Prompto hadn’t moved. His toes scuffled the edge of the pavement.

“I’m sorry,” Ignis repeated.

“Nothin’ to apologise for,” Prompto murmured. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Ignis’s gaze went down; the cigarette had rolled into the short grass, its butt peeking out onto the pavement. He walked over and crouched down in front of it, wiping the stick with his sleeve as he stood.

Prompto’s voice held no small amount of confusion. “What are you—“

“One smoke won’t kill me,” Ignis said. Prompto snorted. “Hold out your hand.”

Prompto frowned.

“Where’s it been? Didn’t it land in the grass?”

“It’s clean.” Ignis faltered. “You… you can trust me.”

Far too long passed before Prompto slowly held out his hand, his sole eye somehow eyeing Ignis with great suspicion. Heart aching, Ignis pressed it into his hand, wincing at the sheer _warmth_ that came from his palm. He let go. Prompto curled his fingers around it, raising it and putting it into his mouth immediately.

“Do you have a lighter?”

“Yeah.” Prompto fished it out of the back pocket of Ignis’ jeans. He raised it, hesitated, and lowered it. “…Thanks. You, uh, don’t have to stay.” The cigarette bopped up and down when he spoke.

“I wasn’t planning to,” Ignis said, and swept into the house before he could see the stick being lit. He heard the lighter flicking to life and switched on the television, turning up the cooking programme that came on.

It wasn’t long before Prompto came in, the stink of smoke surrounding him. It was impossible, however, to ignore how much better he must have been feeling already. He flopped onto the sofa, and his leg didn’t twitch, nor did he beat out an anxious rhythm on his leg, or fiddle with bracelets no longer there. Ignis lowered the volume of the television and turned.

“Have you taken your—“

“Yeah.”

Ignis frowned. Picked at what little remained of his fingernails, trying to think of something to say. He never thought that he’d be struggling for words in a conversation with Prompto, of all people, but the world was full of new surprises. He glanced over, briefly, to see Prompto purse his lips, his eyebrows drawn taut together.

“Bed, then?” It was early, true, the sun only just starting to set, but it wasn’t as though they had much else to do. Prompto had been told to take as long as he needed from his employer, until he was back into his own body. Cor had ordered Ignis to not take up permanent employment, as if anyone would wish to hire a blind man with the current state of affairs. When Ignis had pushed for a reason why, Cor refused to tell him.

“I.” Prompto shut his mouth. His glance flicked to Ignis, then to front of him, then to the ceiling. His hands squeezed together.

“Prompto?”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” he said. It wasn’t a suggestion. Prompto’s shoulders were set hard, his hands locking in front of him. His leg began to jiggle.

“If…” Ignis leaned forward. “If you wish for space, I don’t mind taking the sofa.”

Prompto was shaking his head before Ignis finished speaking. “Nah, it’s cool. It’s _your_ house.” He snorted, the sound self-depreciating. “Can’t ask you to sleep on your own sofa.”

“I honestly don’t mind.”

“I know you don’t,” Prompto whispered. When he turned to face Ignis, the dim overhead light caught on his scar. It stood out harshly in the darkness. “But…” He ducked his head. “I’d rather. Have the sofa, I mean.”

Prompto had more to say. He crossed his arms and tipped his head back, sighing through his mouth. In that moment, without Ignis’s usual glasses, the bags under his eyes made them look sunken. His mouth – no, his entire face – was set in an unhappy tightness. “And…”

“Yes?”

“I think I’ll go back to my own place soon.”

_“And tonight,”_ the host on the television chirped, their smile as fake as their tone, _“we’ll be learning how to cook—“_

Ignis turned off the television. He exhaled.

“Are you… certain?”

“Positive,” was the immediate reply. Prompto’s leg bounced on the spot.

“I honestly don’t mind you here at all.” _I enjoy your company,_ Ignis wanted to say, but remembering recent events made him fall quiet. This wasn’t about him; this was about what _Prompto_ wanted. Astrals knew that it was impossible to get him to think about himself most days. All his thoughts and words were tumbling up his throat, clotting together before they could escape, and he couldn’t speak even if he wanted to.

Was this what Prompto felt like near constantly?

“I know you don’t,” Prompto repeated. His fingers twisted around the bone of his wrist. “But – I want to. I thought this—“ He waved a vague hand about, narrowly missing Ignis’s face—“whole thing would be gone by now. That we’d be back to normal.”

“But we’re not,” Ignis finished softly. “It’s not an ailment, remember? Iris said that they should find the necessary anti-toxins any day now.”

“Yeah, she told me that.” Prompto’s voice was clipped. “I just…” His next words came out very quiet, so quiet that Ignis strained to hear them. “I can’t spend any longer here. Sorry.”

“Is it me?”

“No!” Prompto was shaking his head furiously. “No no no, not at all!” He bit his lip, nibbling raw skin that had yet to heal from before. “I’m just – I’m not used to it. To living with other people. Sorry.”

“I understand,” Ignis said. He didn’t, not really. The few times his uncle hadn’t been there, he always had family friends, or his uncle’s relatives, or – _someone_ at the household. It was only as a late teenager, almost an adult, that he saw them less and less. “You don’t need to apologise.”

“I’ll go tomorrow.”

“If you need any assistance—“

“I’ll be fine.” A beat: “Thanks.”

The sofa groaned as Ignis stood up. “Be back in just a moment,” he said, squeezing Prompto’s shoulder as he walked past and hurried to his room. He shook out the duvet quilt, barely large enough for one, beat out the pillows until they were flush, and bundled them all into his arms. It took him a good while to travel down the hall, struggling not to trip over stray fabric and his own feet, but he managed. He allowed them to collapse from his arms as soon as he reached the sofa. The confusion on Prompto’s face morphed into steadfast refusal.

“Ignis, no, you _really_ don’t need to—“

“Do be quiet.”

Much to both of their surprises, Prompto fell silent. He fidgeted at his wrist and his mouth was twisted downwards, but said not a word as Ignis set out the pillows and quilt. He pushed the coffee table back so that Prompto wouldn’t accidentally roll onto the glass and cleared the floor of any potential hazards. Once satisfied, he stood straight and clapped his hands together.

“All done. If you require anything at all, shout.”

Prompto gritted his teeth. “I’m not—“ He deflated, suddenly, sighing and giving Ignis a tight smile. “Thanks. Sorry.”

“You’re not useless.” Prompto winced, making a low hiss and glancing away, and Ignis knew that he had guessed correctly. “Quite the opposite.” He gave Prompto’s shoulder another gentle squeeze. “But there is nothing wrong with asking for help. I, for one, do not mind at all. Neither does anyone else.”

“Thanks.” Prompto wouldn’t look at him. “I’m – uh, I’m gonna sleep now. If that’s alright.”

“Certainly.”

There was a long silence; awkward, tense, the kind the two of them hadn’t shared for many years. Ignis could hear his heart thudding in his chest.

Prompto opened his mouth. Closed it. The television shone off the scar over his left eye. It looked kinder, in the darkness, as though it was only a particularly dark shadow and not only one of the reminders of everything that they had sacrificed.

“Night,” he eventually said.

“Good night,” Ignis said. With a final, fleeting glance, he left.

His bedroom felt dreadfully large and far too empty as he jarred the door open. His curtains fluttered in the summer breeze, and it was surprisingly chilly for this time of year. Ignis tugged on a pair of bed socks and yanked the windows shut, drawing the curtains fully. The mattress creaked as he sat on it, and he stared at the single pillow that sat on it.

Only for a night, he reminded himself, and crawled into it. His right hand reached to take off glasses that were no longer there. Instead, he let it hover above his sight. He clenched the digits, loosened them, staring at the bone that jutted out when he tensed his fingers. Twisting his wrist around, he stared at the scars between the bracelets, at that damned barcode. He couldn’t make out the tiny writing imprinted around it in the dim lighting. Sighing, he dropped his hand to the mattress with a gentle thud.

Without the warmth of another next to him, it took Ignis far too long before he drifted into one of the worst nightmares of his life.

* * *

 

There was a crushing pressure on his right wrist.

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you?” cooed Ardyn’s voice.

_No_ , Ignis thought desperately. _No no no._ This – _this_ – was one memory he had no right experiencing. He had no right to this, he had no right _at all_ , not when Prompto clamped up and snapped the very few times anyone had brought up the question of just _what_ had happened to him after he had been pushed off the train.

_I need to wake up. I need to **wake up.**_

“Are you paying attention?” Ardyn drawled, wearing the famished smile of a predator who had just scented blood. His fingers pulled away from Prompto’s wrist, leaving it feeling bare.

“Leave me _alone_ ,” Prompto tore out the wet words from the soreness in his throat. His arms were aching, neck burning, dried blood clotted together on his rapidly blinking eyelashes. Above all of that, though, was an awful exhaustion of a man who was slowly dying.

Ardyn smile’s widened.

Prompto’s throat went dry, his mind blank apart from a horrible terror when Ardyn’s fingers brushed his belt buckle. “No,” he croaked, voice cracking. “No no no no _no_ —“

Ardyn’s laughter echoed in the tiny room. His hands went away. “I was merely checking that your clothing was all in place,” he said with an easy smile. Prompto’s wristbands dangled from his fingers. “Goodness, you’re a rather dirty thing, aren’t you? Do you have thoughts like that every time someone touches you?” His smile curled. “Not that anyone would ever have reason to touch someone like you, of course.”

Prompto squeezed his aching eyes shut. “The only disgusting person here is _you_.”

“I must say.” Ardyn paced in front of him, as though Prompto hadn’t spoken at all. “You’ve lasted remarkably long. Much longer than I had been expecting.” His eyes were slits as he turned his neck, looking at Prompto over his shoulder. “Did you _really_ think I was interested in you that way?”

“Of course no—“

“I have hundreds of MTs at my command. _Thousands_.” Ardyn peered at the finger of his glove, smile stretching far wider than any human smile should have gone. “All with your face, your body, your personality.”

“You’re lying,” Prompto whispered. “You’re _lying_.”

“Oh, am I, now? I could bring one in, right now.” His finger tapped Prompto’s tattooed wrist. “They all have this exact mark, you know.”

“They’re not – they’re not – I’m _me_.”

“Of course you are,” Ardyn said breezily. “So are all of them.”

“I’m _unique_ —“

“Back to my original point.” Ardyn’s voice travelled in the silence. “I could have my way with any MT. They all look identical to you, after all.” He finally glanced to Prompto. “What _ever_ makes you think that you’re any different than them?”

“I—“

“You’re awfully full of yourself.”

“Shut _up_!” Prompto snapped. Pain exploded in his nose; he yelped, whimpering when he felt bone _shift_. Ardyn pulled his fist back, scowling at the speckles of blood on it.

“ _Don’t—”_ he snarled, darkness gathering thick in his eyes—“speak to me like that.”

Prompto, despite the blood trickling down his face, despite feeling very much like he was dying, grinned. “Like what?”

“You ungrateful little _pest_ ,” Ardyn hissed. “Without me, you would not _exist_.”

“Well, thanks for letting me exist, then.”

“Don’t make me hit you again, Prompto.”

“Didn’t know you were into that.” Prompto coughed, the tang of blood swelling in his mouth. “Kinda obvious, though.”

“You—“

“Prove it,” Prompto rasped. “Bring in a MT. You’ve – you’ve got _thousands_ of them, right?” Ardyn’s eyes narrowed into tiny burning flames, the only light in the cramped room. “Bring just one in. Take off its helmet. If it really has my face, that shouldn’t be a problem for you, right?”

“As though I have time to waste with _you_ ,” Ardyn spat. Prompto did his very best to ignore the cold wetness trailing down between his eyes, tried not to think about the fact that it was Ardyn’s _spit_ and his brain was _not_ helping.

“I dunno, you’re wasting plenty of it right now.”

“Why, I’m only considering your own well-being here. You already know, deep inside, that they look just like you.”

“ _You_ —“

“We shouldn’t waste time. MTs do have _terribly_ short lifespans, after all.”

For a second, Prompto’s heart stopped beating. He opened his mouth. No words came out.

Ardyn continued to pace, tapping a finger on his chin, voice purring. The subtle smile tugging the edges of his lips made Prompto want to vomit. “Are you surprised? We only started producing them thirty years ago, after all, and only a few have survived for that length of time… after all, why bother giving mass produced soldiers longevity? Their sole purpose is to be a mindless, soulless _monster_ —“

“Shut _up_!” Prompto yelled. The chains rattled on his wrists. “Shut the fuck up!”

“Aww, what’s the matter?” Ardyn leaned in front of Prompto, almost nose-to-nose, close enough that Prompto could see pinpoints of sheer darkness in his smiling eyes. His breath smelt somewhat like daemon essence; Prompto swallowed down the urge to vomit yet again. He had to stay strong. For Noct. For Ignis. For Gladiolus. For—

_“It’s all YOUR fault!”_

It wasn’t. A dry rasp of a breath escaped him. That wasn’t – that wasn’t _really_ Noct, it couldn’t have been, it was Ardyn and his illusions, it _had_ to be—

A finger tapped his cheek, bringing him back to reality. “You quite alright there, dear Prompto?”

He snorted, twisting his face away. “Yeah,” he snapped, somehow summoning up enough energy to make his fist rattle against the chains around his wrist. “You’re kinda leavin’ me hanging here, not gonna lie.”

“ _If_ ,” Ardyn purred, any anger from earlier melting into his wide smile as he paced across the room. “You saw your _real_ self, the _real_ you, do you think you’d be able to cope?”

Prompto’s smile froze.

“Aww, did I hit a sore spot?”

“The hell you talking about!?”

Ardyn stopped in front of him, a finger coming to drape across the side of his forehead. Prompto wrenched his head as far away from the perfectly-manicured nail as possible. Humming in amusement, Ardyn ran his finger across Prompto’s forehead, brushing back his fringe that was stuck to clammy skin with dried blood.

“Your mental state is already…” Ardyn clucked his tongue in his mouth. “…What’s the word… _delicate_. In all my years of existence, I’ve only ever seen a handful like yourself.”

“Shut _up_ —“

“So _delicate_ —“

“I said shut up!”

“And all of them were human, which is certainly more than what you can claim.” Ardyn’s smile was a twisted sneer. “Your ‘father’, if you could ever call Besithia that, certainly didn’t care for you. Neither did your two mothers.”

“How the _hell_ —“

“At least you’re home now.” Ardyn flicked something off his fingernails, glancing at Prompto as though he was less than a bug. Hell, maybe he was, and _now_ was not the time, brain _shut up_. “They do say that home is where the heart is.”

“Lemme guess,” Prompto snapped before Ardyn could continue. The man’s mouth fell open in an abyss of a smile. “You’re gonna say some crap like ‘but I wonder if you even _have_ a heart’.”

“Brav- _o_ , Prompto. You’re remarkably intelligent for an MT, aren’t you?”

“At least I didn’t go about stalking a kid for his entire frickin’ _life_.” That had to be the reason why Ardyn knew about his adoptive parents, because it didn’t make _sense_ otherwise. It wasn’t that Prompto was _ashamed_ of them, or some stupid reason like that; he just had never been comfortable talking about himself. At all. Whatsoever. Because, you know, it was wasting other people’s time, and he could think of a hundred thousand _million_ things other people would rather do than listen to him blather on. A hundred thousand million things that _he’d_ rather do then listen to his own stupid voice.

“Believe what you will,” Ardyn said mildly, and if that wasn’t ominous Prompto didn’t know _what_ was.

He sworn that he shut his eyes only for a second, but when he opened them again, Noct was staring back at him, his smile too wide to belong to his best friend. Another one of Ardyn’s illusions.

“You never get sick of using the same trick?” Prompto taunted. Despite his words, the chains around his wrists clattered with his shaking. There was a reason why Ardyn used this so damn often, and it was because Prompto always fell for it, every single time. His mind _knew_ that it wasn’t real, that it wasn’t really Noct, or Iggy, or Gladio, that as useless and as worthless as he was Prompto wasn’t _hated_ by them.

Convincing his heart, however, was wholly impossible. And  - well – Ignis had been so quiet and sharp and _hurt_ lately, despite Prompto’s best attempts, and Gladio had been so _angry_ with everything and Noct _had_ shoved him off the train—

No that wasn’t him _it couldn’t have been him._

“You ever get sick of being worthless?” Ardyn said in Noct’s voice, emphasising all the right vowels, smiling that tiny smile Noct got when he was amused and trying to hide it.

Prompto hissed. “Not as sick as you are,” he whispered, but the words were without bite.

Still smiling, Noct stepped forward.

“You never get tired of _pretending_?”

Prompto squeezed his eyes shut, shivering as smooth fingers brushed over his skin.

“Oh, _Prompto_ ,” he sighed. “You can stop lying to others. To yourself.” His fingernails dug into his cheek. “You’re not human. Never have been, never will be.”

“S-stop it,” Prompto whispered, too devoid of energy to even open his eyes. “ _Stop_ it. I’m real. I’m—“

Noct _laughed_.

Chest heaving, Prompto began to run through the list of the hundred thousand million things he’d rather do than listen to this.

“You’re looking even worse than usual. What happened?”

_One: be around the campfire with Noct and Iggy and Gladio. Maybe eating some green curry, nuzzling up next to my chocobo, taking a few pictures of the stars._

“What’s wrong?” And damn it, if the _concern_ in his voice didn’t make Prompto want to die on the spot, nothing would. His next words were sweeter than honey. “Did everyone else finally get sick of you?”

_Two: sleeping in the tent, cramped between everyone, listening to Gladio’s loud snores and feeling Noct’s warmth and Iggy’s quiet murmurs. Remembering that I’m not alone. Not anymore._

A hand shook his shoulder. “Prompto, I’m your king. _Answer_ me.”

_Three—_

“I said _answer_ me!” Noct snapped, his hand slapping across Prompto’s cheek. Prompto bit his lip and kept his head low.

“Worthless piece of _shit,_ ” Noct – no, _Ardyn,_ it was _Ardyn_ – spat, boots thudding as he stormed away. The cell door rattled open, then slammed shut. “Gods know why I tolerated you for so long.”

His steps echoed into silence. Only when the room was utterly empty, when he was certain that no one else was around, did Prompto move. He took a deep shuddering breath, tilting his head back as far as his feeble strength would allow him.

He couldn’t die. He _couldn’t_. Not until the others got here – _if_ they got here.

No, they would. They had to. He didn’t know what he’d do if they didn’t.

(Die afraid, _alone_ , like he always thought he would, in a home even worse than his last.)

But, _Six_ , it was tempting to give up. So, so tempting.

_Noct,_ he told himself. _I need to stay alive for Noct and Ignis and Gladio. I have to. I have to._

Maybe they did hate him. They probably did. He couldn’t blame them. But… he couldn’t die. Not without them knowing the truth about him.

Was it selfish? Absolutely. He didn’t care.

His right wrist burned.

Staring at the scantily lit corridor from behind blurry eyes, Prompto wondered if this was what dying felt like.

* * *

 

Ignis awoke to screaming.

It took him a few seconds to realise that it was his own voice screaming, a sound he had only heard in his darkest of nightmares. The ones where fire clawed at his face, melting his eyes and dripping molten skin into his screaming mouth, the taste of flesh burning his tongue. It had been _so_ long since he’d last—

Then, he remembered; he wasn’t in his own body.

He was still shaking from his own dream, from memories Prompto had never spoken of, but he forced himself onto his feet. He stumbled and banged into his bed frame. The screaming had stopped, but Ignis could hear an awful high-pitched keel, the sound of an animal begging to die.

He couldn’t stop _shaking_. The thought of touching someone else made him want to vomit. Instead, he swallowed down all the nausea, grateful that he had left the door open as he wobbled down the hall, one broken man stumbling after another.

The living room door was shut. It rattled and clattered in his trembling hands. Eventually, though, somehow, he wrestled it open.

“Prompto!”

He was curled up on himself, a shaking mess under the blanket on the floor. One pillow laid next to Ignis’s foot, the other at the opposite end of the room. Ignis approached the bare foot sticking out of the bottom of the blanket, taking a second to realise why it was his own foot staring back.

Gently, ever so softly, he pulled on the blanket, crouching down next to his friend. As he did so, though, Prompto whimpered, turning further away from Ignis.

“Prompto, it’s Ignis.” He thought of how _pathetic_ they must have looked in that moment, two men over the age of thirty, on the floor and reduced to nervous wrecks over _nightmares_. He swallowed down that vile bile; now was _not_ the time to be loathing himself.

“I know,” came the quiet hiss of pain. “I know. It – it was a dream.”

“You’re awake. You’re in my apartment.” He felt as though he was watching the two of them from very far away. None of this felt _real._

“I-it hurts,” Prompto whispered, nails clawing at the giant scar over his eye. “It – it _burns_.”

Instinct screamed at Ignis to grab his hand and drag it away; experience told him that that was the worst possible thing he could do. “Phantom pain, Prompto.” He clutched his hands in one another. “That didn’t happen to you.”

He stopped clawing. “But it happened to _you_.”

Ignis was silent at that. His wrists ached. His nose throbbed. A different type of phantom pain.

He sat against the sofa, arms dangling at his sides, and watched dust dance in the early morning light.

“I’m so _tired_.” Prompto pulled himself up next to Ignis, jolting away when they accidentally brushed shoulders. Very slowly, he draped the blanket over Ignis’ legs. Then, he leaned against the sofa as well, knees curling up to his chest, resting his forehead on his arms.

“As am I,” Ignis whispered.

“Of everything.” Prompto raised his head, just enough to be barely heard over the chirping of nature outside. The sunlight bounced off the television screen, and Ignis had never felt colder. “I don’t – I don’t want to feel like this.”

“Neither do I.”

“I wanna go back to Insomnia, to before everything happened, to – to the good times.” Prompto’s fist slammed the floor. His next words tore out from his throat: “Screw the prophecy! Screw the Astrals! Screw Ar - _Ar_ —“

His mouth clamped shut with a gasping heave. He crossed his arms, digging his nails into his biceps, tight enough that the skin around them went white.

“Prompto—“

“I-I can’t even – even say his _name_.” Prompto’s harsh, bitter laugh set every inch of Ignis on end. “Ten years later. Gods, h-how pathetic is that? He didn’t even – he didn’t even _do_ anything, n-not to me, h-he—“

“The dream I just had,” Ignis whispered, “would beg to differ.”

Prompto stared at him, scar peeking out from between his fingers.

There was a dreadfully long silence. Prompto’s arms dropped to his sides. In that moment, he looked as terrified as Ignis had ever seen him.

“You didn’t – you _didn’t_ —“

“You dreamt of the moment I… lost my sight, correct?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah.” His Adam’s apple was visible as he swallowed. “And, you – you dreamt of… _that_.” Another silence, longer than the last. “…Of _him_?”

“Indeed.”

Ignis drew a knee up to his chest, resting an elbow on it. “You don’t have to talk about it,” he said eventually, when Prompto only buried his head in his crossed arms and didn’t speak. “But… we _are_ here.” Hesitantly, he rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze.

Prompto’s own hand, sweaty, slick, grasped Ignis’s as he made to move it. “You too, Iggy,” he said, and there was a fierceness in his voice that Ignis hadn’t heard for a long time.

Swallowing, Ignis let go. His legs felt like jelly when he tried to stand. He managed, somehow, staring out at the sun rising high in the summer sky before shaking out his arms. He felt… disconnected, from everything, as though he was watching himself move. An effect of the nightmare, perhaps, or maybe just several things hitting him at once.

He did his best to ignore it.

“Breakfast?” Ignis asked, already knowing what Prompto would say.

Sure enough, Prompto shook his head, still curled up on the floor. It was a desperate sight. “Not hungry,” he mumbled. His eye flickered up to Ignis, then away with a quiet sigh. “…Could you make some toast, maybe?”

Trying to hide the surprise in his voice, Ignis nodded. “Certainly.”

It didn’t take long to make. Soon, they were sat in front of the television, deathly quiet. Ignis’s spoon chimed in his bowl of porridge, the flavour bland on his tongue. The nibbles of Prompto crunching on the edges of his toast was deafening. Neither of them paid attention to the programme on the television.

As his eyes drifted over the room, Ignis caught the light on his phone flashing. Humming, he placed his bowl on the coffee table and headed over to it.

_From: Gladio_

_-1/06/00-_

_[09:21] noon still okay_

He sighed.

“Everything okay?” Prompto asked.

“A text from Gladio.”

Toast flopping in his mouth, Prompto reached forward to grab the plastic cup of water, succeeding on his first attempt. “What’s he want?” he asked, voice somehow guarded despite the food in his mouth, as though Gladio was a stranger and not a brother to them both.

Ignis frowned. “It’s been six months.”

Immediately, comprehension drew on his face. He let out a low _“shit”_ , sinking back into the sofa, dragging a hand over his face. “…Already?”

“Indeed.” Ignis sipped at his coffee. “I trust that you will be coming..?”

“I can’t,” Prompto said quietly, staring down at where his toes were. “I’ve – already made plans.”

“You can’t cancel them? Surely you didn’t forget that it was _today_.”

“Well, y’know, no one exactly _mentioned_ it.”

“You—“ Ignis forced himself to exhale. “You honestly _forgot_?”

Toast dropping onto his plate, Prompto’s fist thudded the sofa. He stood up, legs tensed, the stand of a person ready to fight. “What, do I suddenly care less about – about Noct, just ‘cause I can’t make today!? Is _that_ what you’re trying to say?”

“I’m saying no such thing, calm _down_.”

Seconds ticked by. With a low growl, Prompto threw himself on the sofa, fingers clenching and loosening in his lap. His shoulders were tense. Not trusting himself to speak, Ignis turned back to his phone.

_To: Gladio_

_-1/06/00-_

_[10:45] Noon is fine. Prompto can’t come._

A reply came almost immediately:

_From: Gladio_

_-1/06/00-_

_[10:46] Course he can’t._

“I’ll be heading out shortly.” Ignis locked his phone. “Do you require anything, Prompto? Have you taken your medication?”

“Nope and yeah.” Prompto’s shoulders were rigid, elbows sitting on his spread legs. Ignis frowned.

“When would you have gotten the opportunity—“

“I’ll take it after I finish eating.” Prompto shook his head. “Just go on ahead, Ignis. It’s fine.”

_Ignis._ The usage of his full name shouldn’t have been as painful as it was, yet…

Goodness, how ridiculous was this? They knew more about the other than anyone else, and yet the tension was thick, impossible to ignore. Even _being_ in the same room as Prompto was difficult.

He hoped, dearly, that the antidote was found soon. For both of their sakes. If that nightmare _hadn’t_ been the worst of Prompto’s memories, Ignis didn’t want to ever know.

“I will… get ready to head out,” Ignis said after far too long. The door handle was warm in his hand, somehow. His bowl of porridge, stone cold, was freezing in his other. “I shall see you later.”

“Yeah.”

“If you require anything from me in any way, call me.”

“Yeah.”

“And… look after yourself, Prompto.”

Prompto turned at that, lifting his head and looking at where Ignis was. Silence.

“…Yeah,” he whispered, clenching his hands together. “I’ll try. You too, Ignis.”

His fingernails scraped on the table top as he reached for his only slice of toast. Sighing, Ignis closed the door behind him and went to get ready.

* * *

 

On his way to their location spot, Ignis visited the bakery and bought Noct’s favourite desserts.

Gladio was already sitting cross-legged at their meeting spot, at the bottom of the steps that led to the king’s throne. He made neither movement nor sound, only glancing up when Ignis’ boots clicked in the silence.

“Mhmmm, those smell good,” Gladio said, grinning, pushing himself onto his feet. His bones cracked, pops of noise in the silence. Ignis could feel the sunlight on the nape of his neck; as per instructions from himself and Gladio, the restoration workers had only cleared away the debris from Noct’s final battle. No construction had been done on the roof; it was fitting, in a sense, to have the sunlight focus on the location where Lucis’s final king had given his life to allow the light to return.

Ignis held out the small basket in his hand. Gladio took it off him and popped open the lid, taking a deep inhale. “ _Mhmmmmm_.” He looked up, grinning. “If I had any doubts that you were Iggy, they’re sure gone by now.”

It took him a second, to understand just what he meant, and then he glanced down to his too-skinny wrists. To his bare freckled arms. To the scars peeking out from under the wristbands.

Gladio’s rumble of a laugh as he slapped Ignis’s back shook him out of such thoughts. “What, did ya forget?”

“Only for a second.” A pause. “I didn’t bake them.”

Frowning a little, Gladio reached it and took out a tart. “Yeah, thought they didn’t smell like yours.”

“Apologies.”

“Nah, it’s fine.”

Gladio thumped back onto the stairs, on the fourth step from the bottom. His legs sprawled out over an impressive distance, squeezing the basket between his thighs. The poor wood squeaked and squealed as he fidgeted with it, taking out another tart for Ignis. “So. Prompto couldn’t make it?”

“Said he had prior plans.” Ignis sat down on the second lowest step, folding one leg over the other. His feet only just touched the bottom. “Refused to tell me what they were.”

Gladio’s mouth twitched into an unhappy frown. “ _Seriously_? Gods, he had to know that it was today.”

Ignis shrugged.

“Funny; Lauren said the same thing, too. She’s meeting up with someone today. Wouldn’t tell me who.”

“You trust her?”

“Of _course_ I do,” Gladio snapped, now turning his frown on Ignis. His wedding ring glistened with the sunlight overhead. “ _Seriously_ , Iggy? Never thought _you’d_ say that kinda crap.”

“Apologies,” he said, turning his head to face the open entrance. He could spot an overturned sofa in the room over.

Gladio grunted.

“You invited her here?” Ignis asked, his voice a bit sharper than he had intended.

“Nah. Wasn’t going to.” Gladio looked over to him. “This thing feels too personal to include anyone else but us three.”

“And yet we are missing one.”

Gladio tilted his head back, sighing through his nose. “I worry about that kid, ain’t gonna lie.”

“He’s hardly a child.”

“Sure acts like one when he wants to.”

Ignis drew his lips into a thin line. “And what, pray tell, has brought this on?”

Gladio snorted, turning his head away and hunching up on himself. “It’s nothing.”

“Gladio—“

“He pisses me off sometimes, alright?” Gladio leaned forward on his elbows, back still taut, avoiding Ignis’s gaze.

“In what way, exactly?” Ignis asked, even as that familiar sinking feeling wove tight in his stomach.

Gladio snorted. “Do I really need to say it?”

He didn’t.

“I don’t know who he’s trying to fool.” Gladio’s fists clenched in the leather of his trousers. “We _know_ him. Kid’s the worst liar I’ve ever met, and I’ve got _Iris_ for a sister.”

“What, exactly, do you think he’s lying about?”

Ignis already knew the answers. He lied about the very same things, after all, and even if they weren’t similar in so many ways… the nightmares. They told all.

“What do you _think_?” Gladio snapped. Ignis stayed silent. “I just—“ Gladio snapped his mouth shut. “I just wish he’d _talk_ to us.”

“Me too.” Gladio shot him a Look at that, a Look that Ignis knew the meaning of fully well. He and Gladio had always known each other well; it was equal parts a blessing and a curse, and Ignis kept quiet until Gladio sighed and turned back to his food.

“Like you’re any better,” he muttered, and Ignis couldn’t refute his words.

“So,” he murmured, wiping off the crumbs of the tart from his fingers. Ignis watched them scatter over the flawless tiles and had a sudden, maddening urge to wipe them off. They didn’t have the right to just _sit_ here, munching on food, relaxing so close to the spot that their king had sacrificed his life for them. This place didn’t deserve to be treated like just another alley, as if they had decided to bunk down for the night in the streets.

…Somehow, though, he had a feeling that Noct would have preferred it this way. He always had loathed being treated differently.

And at least Gladio was wearing a shirt. _Finally._

“Six months already, huh?” Gladio said. He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, ankles crossing over one another loosely. “Time really does fly.”

Ignis nodded. He didn’t speak – he _couldn’t_ , not if the only words that could come out were all lies. The last six months had been the longest six of his entire life, each day dragging more than the last. Many mornings he woke up and wondered: _what is the point?_

He cupped his hands around his knees, bouncing one leg off the other. Gladio glanced over to him.

“So. Apart from the whole body swap nonsense, got anything exciting happening?”

“Nothing could compare to you becoming _married_ ,” Ignis said. Gladio’s smile grew into a proud grin. He sprayed his hands out on the steps above him, leaning his head back until the sunlight was on his face. He looked younger now than he had ten years ago, eyelashes fluttering shut over the scar on his cheek. The wrinkles under his eyes could have belonged to any aging man, no longer heavy bags from grief held in far too tight. His eyebrows were still absolute furry _monsters_ , but they were relaxed, not pulled taut together with repressed anger.

All in all, he very much had the appearance of someone who was _happy_ , despite it all. Someone who was healing. As loathe as he was to admit it, a quiet jealousy burnt within Ignis’s chest.

“Yeah,” Gladio said, voice warm. His smile stretched and lifted the thin moustache above his lips. “Yeah. Lauren is – _Gods_ , she’s amazing.” He let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Still can’t believe she likes me.”

“How, precisely, did the two of you meet?”

“Oh, about… four years ago?” Gladio shrugged. “She saved my ass on a hunt, I saved hers next time we teamed up, then we ended up kissing.”

“That _quickly_?”

Gladio snorted. “Not everyone’s as slow as you are in a relationship, Iggy.”

Despite himself, he felt his ears colouring. He hunched in on himself, most certainly _not_ pouting at Gladio’s loudening laughter. “Hardly anything wrong with that, now.”

“It took you three weeks to start calling me ‘Gladio’.”

“So what?”

“Three weeks after we _started dating_.” Gladio leaned back on his hands, a fond smile on his scarred cheeks. “And, what, another two weeks before you kissed me?”

“It was my first kiss.”

“Me too.” Gladio’s smile became softer, somehow. “And I don’t regret a second of it.”

“Neither do I. I am… glad, that we broke up on such amicable terms.”

“I think we both knew it wasn’t anything _too_ serious.” Gladio thudded Ignis’s shoulder. “If you ever get someone – and you don’t, that’s totally cool – lemme know so I can go kick their ass.”

“What if it was someone you knew?” he said before he could stop himself – and regretted it, immensely, as Gladio’s eyes lit up with the hapless fire he always got whenever romance was discussed. He was a hopeless romantic; a trait that had been carried through the Amicitia bloodline, along with fists of steel and undying loyalty.

“So you _have_ got someone in mind?” Gladio leaned forward, grinning. “Who—“

“I would rather lose my hearing than tell you,” Ignis said drily. Gladio’s laughter roared in the air.

“All right, all right, jeez. I can respect a guy’s privacy.” He frowned, jabbing a finger into Ignis’s shoulder. “But if anything happens—“

“You’ll be the first to know, rest assured.” Not that anything _would_ happen. Not at the moment.

Perhaps not ever. Not after everything that had happened in these last few weeks.

“Good.” Gladio nodded to himself, smile smug.

A silence stretched. Gladio’s smile sharpened, and Ignis resisted the urge to shudder.

“So,” he began, voice deliberately kept mild, “be honest with me, Iggy. Completely honest. How have you and Prompto been?”

“Fine,” came his immediate response. He winced at the tenseness in that single word; and Gladio must have noticed too, for he turned to fully face Ignis, eyebrows raised.

“Funny,” Gladio said. His fists twitched in his lap. Ignis swallowed. “I thought I asked you to be honest.”

“I am—“

“Like hell you are!” Gladio stood up, knocking over the basket Ignis had brought. It clattered down to the bottom of the steps, where a single tart rolled out. Ignis stood up at once.

“The tart—“

“Listen to me!” Gladio snapped. “Have you two – have either of you two _looked_ in a mirror at all!? Have either of you _looked_ at yourselves, because hell you two are fine!”

On instinct, Ignis stood. He crossed his arms, feeling the fabric of his jacket stretch. “It’s hardly any of your business—“

“Gods _damn_ it, Iggy!” Gladio roared, his boot thudding against the step. His fist yanked the neck of Ignis’s jacket. “You think Noct’d _want_ you two to be like—“ His fist shook— “like _this_!?”

Ignis slapped his hand away and stepped back, words choking in his throat, fists shaking at his sides. “Don’t speak his name—“

“ _Do you!?_ ” Gladio stepped forward again, and for a moment, his sheer _height_ made Ignis take a step back. His heel caught on the step and he stumbled, but didn’t fall.

He clenched his teeth and could taste blood on his tongue. “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous!”

“Then _do_ something about it!” Gladio sprayed his hands out, calloused fingers stretching wide. “All you two have been doing is mopin’ around, like you’re the only ones who’ve lost someone important!”

“Be _quiet_!” Ignis snarled. He took one step back, then another, still shaking. They stood on opposite ends of the twin carpets that ascended to the king’s throne. Gladio’s fist lowered from his side, the anger on his face morphing into pity. His hand loosened. “ _Well_!?”

“You tell me to be quiet then tell me to talk?” Gladio squeezed his eyes shut, glancing away. “Make up your mind, Iggy.”

“Don’t pity me,” he heaved, quite aware of how his voice quivered. “Don’t you _dare_ pity me.” He stepped forward, sinking into the hot heat of emotions he so rarely allowed himself to feel. It was – exhilarating, in a sense. “Not when we’ve been through exactly the same ordeals!”

“Grief isn’t some kind of – some kind of competition, _gods!_ ” Gladio hissed, all the earlier anger returning to his face. _Good_ , Ignis thought. He’d take any emotion over pity. He was _not_ someone to be pitied, not for his lack of sight or this whole _body swap_ business, or for losing his only purpose in life, or – or _anything_.

He could handle any other emotion.

“ _You_ were the person who taught me that, Iggy,” Gladio said – and all the rage was gone _again_. He was trembling, only barely, but it would have been evident on any man as large as he was. “Remember when you helped me when I thought Iris had died? When my dad _did_ die?”

“That was _years_ ago—“

“Yeah, well, one thing I’m good at is remembering things.” Gladio stepped forward. “Remember when I thought ‘I can’t say anything about this, Noct has it so much worse. _Everyone_ has it so much worse’. You’d lost your uncle. Prompto—“ He swallowed. “…well. Hard to miss your family if they were never there.”

Ignis’s heart ached. His mouth fell open.

“I still remember what you told me: ‘it’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to reach out’.” Then, he stepped forward, boots stomping in the silence. He stopped in front of the carpet ahead of Ignis, just too far away to reach. “So why the hell can’t you listen to your own advice, huh? I’ve talked to people about what happened to Noct – what happened to _all_ of us. I’ve talked to Lauren, to Cor; I’ve even gone to _therapy_ , for crying out loud.” He looked up, fists loose. “What have _you_ done, Iggy? How long you gonna keep your head in the sand for? Until you end up suffocating?” A flash of desperation in his eyes lurched him a step forward. “Is that what you _want!_?”

Ignis tried to speak. No words came out, save for the noises of a man drowning. His chest was too tight. He couldn’t _do_ this.

“Look, I get ya, alright?” Gladio shook his head, glancing away. “I was exactly the same at first. Didn’t – didn’t want to admit that anything _had_ happened, ‘cause if I did… well. That’d be a lot like giving up. Like admitting that Noct really is dead.” Ignis’s breath hitched. “And that I _never_ had a chance to succeed in my duty, even though it was my entire life. It was _everything_ to me, protecting Noct.”

He flopped onto the steps again, but his gaze never faltered from Ignis’ eyes. For the first time since all of – _this_ , had began, Ignis wished that he had no sight. He would have been able to ignore the sheer _desperation_ in his friend’s eyes. The anguish, the _pain_ , the plea for Ignis to _understand_. “Lauren wouldn’t leave me alone, y’know? She’s a doctor; she knows all about this kind of shit. She kept prodding at me, poking and nudging, until I just – snapped, one day, and told her all of it.”

He shook his head. “I’m grateful, Iggy. So, so grateful.” He ran a hand through the base of his hair, under the knot of his ponytail. “Gods know where I’d be if I hadn’t had her. Not a good place, probably.” He shut his eyes and his mouth, making a pained noise. “…Probably where you two are right now.”

Wordlessly, Ignis slumped next to him, head bowed, hands shaking. His sight blurred and his contacts stung, something vicious clogged tight in his throat. “I – _don’t_ —“

“Noct was even more a part of your life than he was mine, and lemme tell ya, he was a _huge_ part of my life.” Gladio sighed. “It’s like – having your purpose ripped away from you. I’d wake up and think ‘ _Six_ , what am I meant to do? Noct’s dead. What am I meant to do without him?’”

Had he truly been that obvious? Had Ignis _truly_ been that blatant to his loved ones? He clasped a trembling hand over his mouth, still unable to form words.

“Your purpose can be _anything_.” Gladio shrugged. “Lookin’ after a cat, learning how to, I don’t know, knit, writing a book…”

“I’m _blind_!”

“That’s not my point, Iggy.” Gladio sighed. His voice was tender, gentle, as though he was speaking to a child overwhelmed with grief. In that moment, that was very much what Ignis felt like. “That’s not my point at all. I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is that… uh… life keeps going, y’know? I still miss Noct like hell. I don’t think the pain from _that’s_ ever gonna go away. Fuck, I still miss my dad, and that was years ago. I miss the old times, where we’d drag Noct from the arcades—“

“ _Stop_ ,” Ignis whispered. “S-stop, _please_.”

“The world doesn’t care about what we lost. It’s gonna keep on keepin’ on.” Gladio’s hand rested on Ignis’s thigh. “All we can do is try to catch up.” He squeezed his hand. “But you have to let yourself _grieve_ , Ignis. You can’t keep pretending that you’re okay. You’re not. None of us are. It just – it just kills you, from the inside, and I’m…” Gladio swallowed. “I couldn’t protect Noct, but I sure as _hell_ am gonna protect the people important to him. The people important to _me_.”

The touch was what did it. As soon as Gladio’s warmth reached him, seeping through the chill that Ignis hadn’t even felt until now, he began to sob. It wasn’t quiet; he clattered and shuddered and sniffled, turning his body away from Gladio. He attempted to keep quiet, but his wails echoed in the sacred silence, and when Gladio’s arm wordlessly draped over his shoulders, he bawled like a new-born babe.

Gladio’s hand rubbed his back. Ignis sobbed harder. His chest – no, his entire _body_ – ached as he attempted to wipe away the tears, but it only made more pour from his aching eyes.

“Here,” Gladio said softly, holding out a tissue. Ignis took it and wiped it over his face. He hunched over, Gladio’s hand never leaving his back, and shook.

“I miss him,” Ignis croaked.

“I know.”

“ _S-so much_.”

“I know, Iggy.” His hand rubbed soft circles into his back. “I know.”

“I don’t – I don’t know _what_ to do.”

“I don’t either. That’s something you have to work out for yourself, Iggy.”

Ignis gave a feeble blow into his tissue. When he pulled it away from his face, it was damp with his tears, clumps of snort all over it. He winced.

“A-a-apologies—“

“Don’t you _dare_ apologise,” Gladio growled, and the sheer _force_ in those few words made Ignis fall silent. “I’m just – I’m just glad that I managed to get this out of you, before…”

“Before what?”

It was a long time before Gladio spoke: “I don’t know. Something… bad, probably.” His chest shuddered. “I’m just glad.”

Then, without warning, he pulled Ignis into a hug that dwarfed him. Ignis startled at the sudden contact, but he didn’t mind it, not really, not when he was surrounded by human _warmth_. It was incredible, how much that simple contact put his heart at ease. He’d been lacking it for far too long.

He sighed into Gladio’s arm. Gladio drew away, smiling.

“Y’know. I’ve never seen you cry before.”

Ignis frowned. His mind was still scattered from earlier, slow to catch up with the warmth beginning to coil in his heart, but… “You have. Several times.” _You’re one of the very few people who have._

Grinning, as though Ignis had played into his joke, Gladio prodded his chest. “Yeah, but not in Prompto’s body.” His smile dropped. “Wait.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve never seen Prompto cry. Not once.” He frowned, crossing his arms. “Nah, he has to have done it at least _once_ …”

“He hasn’t,” Ignis interrupted softly.

“Eh.” Gladio rolled his shoulders. “I’ll pester him when you guys get back into your own bodies. There’s been tons of sightings of that… _snake clown_ , or whatever the hell you guys saw. We’ll get a cure any day now.”

“I can hardly wait,” Ignis said, smiling, surprising even himself at how sincere his words were. As grateful as he was for sight – and he _was,_ far more than what he could ever put into words – he missed his body, dreadfully so. He missed his own moles, his own scars, his own skin. Even if he couldn’t see them, he could _feel_ them, run his fingers over the raised skin and remember where each and every one was. It was – wrong, to be in another’s skin like this, to know their body so intimately without permission.

“Yeah, this shit’s been _way_ too weird for my liking.” Gladio’s feet tapped against the ground as he thought, pursing his lips out. He leaned forward and glanced over his shoulder. “I’m… glad that it happened, though.”

Ignis spread his legs out. He dabbed his snotty nose on what little clean space remained on the handkerchief. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s kinda forced you guys to admit that, hey, things aren’t going as well as you thought they were.” Gladio shrugged. “I mean, it definitely has for you, at least. I’ve barely seen Prompto since this thing happened.”

“Truly?”

“Yeah.” Gladio grinned. “Just means that I’ll have to spend double my usual time with him when you guys return to normal.”

Ignis looked at the sky through blurred eyes. There was hardly a cloud to be seen, the sky a brilliant blue. The pleasant summer heat was sudden, and he wondered on how he hadn’t felt it until this second.

“Thank you, Gladio.”

Gladio’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “What are friends for, huh?”

Ignis smiled. “You’re right. As always. Noct—“ The name stung, but for less than a second—“wouldn’t want us to sit here, doing nothing. He’d want us to live, no matter how difficult it may be. No matter how easy it is to sink into grief.” His hands squeezed together, gloves squeaking. “I won’t allow that to happen any longer.”

“Hey, you don’t need to make any massive resolutions right this second. Niflheim wasn’t built in a day.” Gladio smiled back at him, the crow’s feet around his eyes wrinkling. “Just – keep living. Keep going. Things will work themselves out.”

“Indeed.”

“We’re all here for you.” Gladio’s smile somehow softened. “Wanna go say hi to Noct?” he asked, standing up and turning around.

Ignis followed his gaze, right to the throne where Lucis’s many rulers had sat for hundreds of years. “Of course,” he said, smiling, and took Gladio’s hand to help pull him up.

As they approached the throne, Ignis sworn that he could hear Noct’s laughter in the wind.

* * *

 

They were tiptoeing their way through the worst of the Citadel rubble, past overturned cars and cracks in the pavement, when Ignis’s phone buzzed with the insistent melody of a call.

“Apologies,” he said, pulling out his mobile. He made to end the call, but then he saw Aranea’s name on the screen, and frowned.

Gladio leaned over. “Aranea?” he asked, sounding as confused as Ignis felt. “What’d she want?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He hit the answer button and held it to his ear. “Hello? Aranea?”

_“The one and only,”_ she panted, sounding remarkably out of breath. _“Oi, you skullheads, don’t lose that!”_ she yelled. Ignis could hear a very faint chorus of “yes ma’ams!” ring out, followed by a late “you got it, Lady A!”.

“Is everything well?”

_“Found the bastard.”_ There was a pride in her voice. For a second, Ignis’s heart stopped, and then threatened to burst with joy.

“You don’t mean..?”

_“Yup. That thing responsible for you and shortcake switchin’ bodies? Deader than the Chancellor, and with the extra bonus of some anti-toxins.”_

“ _Aranea_ ,” Ignis breathed. “I could kiss you.”

She snorted. _“Good thing you’re gay, huh?”_ she said fondly. _“It doesn’t take long to make an antidote, trust me. We’ll have you two back in your proper bodies in no time.”_

“Thank you,” Ignis whispered.

“Everything alright?” Gladio mouthed, frowning. Ignis nodded. He moved his hand to the side of a caved-in building to gather himself.

His body. He was going to have _his_ body back.

…Once he did, though, he would never be able to see again. He took in a shuddering breath.

_“You alright there?”_

“Fantastic,” he said, and surprised himself by how much he meant it.

_“Listen – I gotta go, but we’ll get the antidote to you in no time. Might even be tomorrow. Elshett’ll call you when she gets it sorted._ ” A pause, then: “ _Look after yourself, Iggy.”_

“I will. _Thank_ you.”

The phone buzzed. Ignis stood there, dazed, until Gladio’s warm hand squeezed his shoulder.

“Seriously, Iggy, what’s up?”

“They – they found the monster. They’ll have an antidote ready soon.”

Gladio made a noise in the back of his throat, offering a small, hopeful smile. “Heeeeeey, that’s great news.”

“It is,” Ignis whispered, staring up at the afternoon sky for what very well could have been his final time. “Truly, it is.”

They stood there, for what must have been some time, listening to the world around them. To the wind whistling between crumbling skyscrapers, through narrow alleyways, to the bicycle chains that gently rattled in the breeze, to the chirps and cries of birds flocking in rubble.

The world was alive. For the first time since the light returned, Ignis felt the same way.

* * *

 

By the time Ignis had returned home, Prompto was in his bathroom, getting ready for sleep despite it only being late afternoon. There wasn’t _much_ else to do, Ignis supposed.

Unfortunately, he was not nearly as receptive of the news as Ignis would have anticipated.

“That’s – that’s great, right?” Prompto murmured. The bed creaked underneath him as he shifted. A toothbrush dangled from his fingertips. “That they got the anti-toxins. Yeah. That’s – that’s great,” he finished lamely.

Ignis frowned. “Your tone is more convincing than your words, somehow. Do you – do you _not_ want a cure?”

“It’s…” Prompto clamped his mouth shut, hand fiddling with the hem of Ignis’s favourite bed shirt. “You wouldn’t get it,” he muttered.

“Perhaps if you explain it, I might.”

He glanced up, eye sharp. “You _wouldn’t_ , all right? Just—“ At once, all of his anger deflated. “Just forget it.”

Well, Ignis thought, that was the end of _that_ conversation. His eyes went down to Prompto’s toothbrush, to the toothpaste smeared over its head.

“Whatever happened to moving out?”

Prompto glanced up at him through long eyelashes. Goodness, had they _always_ been so long? “You want me to go?” he asked, voice carefully neutral. There wasn’t any expression on his face.

“Certainly not. I enjoy your company.”

“Thanks.” Prompto ducked his head.

“I just assumed, that after what you had said…”

“Yeah...” For the first time that evening, Prompto broke out into a smile; timid, small, but it was there. “I guess I kinda forgot, heh. And now with that news…”

“There’d hardly be any point. Not until we return to their own bodies.”

“Right.” He got up, shuffling past Ignis and feeling his way to the sink with a hand on the wall. Ignis stood there in the doorway leading to the hall, waiting until Prompto returned.

“Do you…” Ignis sighed. “Where do you wish to sleep tonight?”

“I—“ Prompto shut his mouth. “I’ll sleep on the bed, sorry. You must have been cold last night.”

“Hardly. No need to apologise.”

“Man,” Prompto said wistfully, a quiet laugh bubbling in his throat. The smile he gave Ignis was so _fond_ that it made him stumble, heart catching in his throat. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“You deserve much more than me, Prompto.”

“Mhm.” Prompto made a noise that was neither agreement or disagreement. He shrugged. “Bit late for this kinda discussion, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps.”

“And – besides. I think I’m happy enough.”

_Are you,_ Ignis wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to make things worse again. Instead, he smiled tightly.

“Glad to hear that,” he murmured, pleasantries oozing thick out of his voice.

Prompto raised an eyebrow, but then let out a mighty yawn. Once he had finished, he tucked himself under the covers, curling up as tightly as possible. “Night, Iggy,” he murmured, voice sleepy.

He had to be tired. He wouldn’t be so – _open_ , so trusting, if he wasn’t. Not after the past few days, the past few _weeks._ “Good night, Prompto,” he whispered, smiling as he headed out to grab a late night snack.

Once he had finished munching on the cereal bar, he went back to his bedroom and got ready for bed. Prompto was asleep, utterly still, yet warm as Ignis crawled into bed next to him. He didn’t dare touch; instead, he stared at his friend’s back for many seconds, before smiling and closing his eyes. For once, it didn’t take long to fall into rest, into a dreamless sleep that he wouldn’t remember come morning.

(Tomorrow would be a better day. For once, Ignis believed it.)


	4. somewhere between sorrow and bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis and Prompto finally return to their original bodies. Slowly, but surely, they all work towards a better future, one step at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so episode prompto amirite. how many times did u cry. i got five beat THAT. so good wtf SO GOOD also prompto and araneas are bffs during the world of ruin sorry i don’t make the rules AND THAT CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT HMMMMMMMMM  
> also it didn’t affect my headcanons as much as i thought it would. gotta change the last nightmare scene A Lot but apart from that?? Nothing!! the genders of prompto’s parents never got confirmed and i don’t think that’s gonna happen in episode ignis somehow so yeah prompto has two mothers again i don’t make the rules  
> sorry for the lateness i thought life would get easier after exams and Boy It Did Not. im working most days (gotta save money for UNI) and life’s just. it’s fucking shit man.  
> BRIGHT SIDE IM AT UNI BINCHES
> 
>  
> 
> ****
> 
>  
> 
> **(insert spongebob fonted ----A YEAR LATER----- here)**  
> 
> 
>   
>  Im keeping the above author notes im laughing like a fucking goddamn hyena these are from a YEAR ago ive finished my first year of uni im actualy crying h el p  
> Better late than never amirite  
> Anyway why this is so late: UNI! DEPRESSION! ANXIETY! WORK! LIFE! WRITER’S BLOCK! CRIPPLING SELF-CONFIDENCE! NEED I CONTINUE!
> 
> But nah seriously for a moment:  
> I can’t thank you guys enough. You guys, who continued to comment on this fic and bookmark it and kudos it and give me encouragement, who didn’t give up on it when I had long given up on it myself.  
> And now, it’s finished. It feels good, man. Feels fucking good.  
> But I can’t thank y’all enough, seriously. Without you – yes, YOU – I wouldn’t have finished this. That’s a fact. I hope this update is enough to satisfy y’all, even just a little.  
> So, thanks. You guys are the best.
> 
> Hope you enjoy~  
> (I wrote this over a year so I'm sorry if that shows lmao, but thank you for being here!  
> also for those interested, I decided to keep iggy and prompto's relationship platonic. that's how i wrote it, but if you wish to interpret it as romantic, i won't stop you - just don't forget that platonic relationships are just as important and significant as romantic relationships)

Ignis had a plan.

Prompto was still asleep when Ignis woke. Sunlight peered through a tiny slit in the curtains. He didn’t know how long he sat there, watching his friend rest, until he got up and went to pull the curtains open. He stopped when he saw his own reflection, a soft smile stretching chapped lips.

He hadn’t even been aware that he was smiling.

Turning around, he grabbed his mobile from the table. The drawer rattled open, empty save for the memory card marked ‘756’ that he tucked into his jacket pocket. Pushing it shut with his hip, he tucked the sheets in around Prompto, careful to avoid his wrist, and headed out.

He’d slept in later than anticipated; it must have been around noon, the summer sun hung high and blinding in the sky. Insomnia had usually retained consistent temperatures throughout the year, but it was near unbearable now. Even without sleeves, the heat pricked at his bare skin, uncomfortably so. He hoped he didn’t burn; Prompto always had been quick to peel off layers of skin any time sunshine came around.

There were light puddles of water on the ground, gathering around wheels of market carts and pooling in the corners of streets. Despite being a residential area, the markets set up ensured that there were plenty of people milling about, the buzzes of their idle chatter lingering in the air. Ignis nodded at people who greeted him, crouched down to high-five an eager child who somehow knew Prompto’s name, and was standing back up when his eye caught on a cart.

He headed over. The merchant – a young woman, bushy-haired and wide-eyed in a way that reminded him of Cindy (and he’d never know what she looked like now, would he?)  – was yanking out little homemade charms, polished wood cravings lovingly painted and finished. His finger brushed over a chocobo-shaped one, its wing thrust high in the air.

She caught his eye, smiling, then giggling as she looked at him proper. “Thinking of getting a companion for your hair?”

“He _is_ rather lonely.” Ignis patted the top of his hair gingerly, wincing at the limpness of it. “I think we could all do with a friend.”

Her smile softened, for a moment, eyes glazing over with memories Ignis would never know of. “Yeah,” she murmured. The metal ends of the necklaces in her hands chimed against the wooden stand. “We all could.”

Shaking her head, smiling, she began to hang up the necklaces on the stand. “Feel free to look around!” she called. Someone stood next to Ignis, their hand brushing against his right wrist; he tensed up, hand clenching, but their interest was solely in the woman’s collection.

He forced himself to relax. No one would be foolish enough to attack him _here_. He was simply on edge. When he glanced back up, the woman looked back, her multitude of freckles shifting with her soft smile.

“So, you wanna buy it?”

Two minutes later, Ignis was waving farewell to her, a scrunched-up bag held tight in his hand. He leaned against the nearest wall and slowly unfolded it, smiling as he held the chocobo charm from its string. As the sun’s emerging rays peeked out from the ruins of Insomnia, and a few developing buildings, the light bounced off the varnished chocobo.

Yes. This would be good enough. More than good enough.

Placing it back inside, he pushed himself off the wall and made for his original destination, his copy of Prompto’s house keys dangling from his fingers.

When he creaked open the door to his friend’s apartment, the damp scent of musk assaulted him, from a house left alone for too long. He pressed the light switch, his finger coming away grey with a thin layer of dust, wincing at the sudden brightness that crackled to life overhead. Sunlight crept in from the open kitchen door, bouncing off a tiny printer on the kitchen table, but the house still felt _lifeless_. It certainly wasn’t what anyone could comfortably call a home.

He headed down the hallway, past the bathroom, stopping for the briefest of moments when he spotted a bottle of half-empty bleach next to the toilet. He didn’t know what emotion gripped his chest, then, that made it hard to breathe, but he shoved it down and continued to move.

(Prompto had said that he had gotten better. Ignis owed him this much, to trust him on this.)

Pushing the bedroom door open, the room was illuminated with the warmth of the afternoon sun. The countless photographs sat just out of the sun’s reach, caught in shadows, most likely carefully positioned so that their colour wouldn’t fade with time. Despite the light, the room smelt stale, of a place undisturbed for far too long. Ignis pushed open the window, just enough that he could hear the chirping of Insomnia’s birdlife as they sung and flew through the sky.

His eye was caught by a glimmering lens; Prompto’s camera, perched on his bedside table. Sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, Ignis clicked on the power button, watching as it let out a small beep before the screen flickered to life. How it was working, even after all these years, Ignis had no idea.

It didn’t even need charging, the battery icon blinking full in the corner. He spent Astrals knew how long messing about with it, fiddling with the lens, startling when he accidentally set the flash. The photograph he had taken, of the corner of the window ledge, was far too awful to even _consider_ saving, but he hadn’t needed to consider; the screen beeped ‘NO STORAGE AVAILABLE’ bright and clear at him.

Humming, he fished out the memory card he had taken earlier, careful not to damage the label as he pushed open the backing and clicked it into place.

_Take a look at the photos—_

Ignis gritted his teeth. Not a chance, not after what had happened last time he allowed curiosity to take over.

_He wouldn’t know._

He wouldn’t betray his friend’s trust yet again. He glanced up at the wall of memories, of people and events and little moments that they would never experience again. It did no good to remember the past, Ignis knew, but there was a difference between remembering and drowning yourself in an ocean of memories that would never allow you to resurface.

Sighing to himself, gnawing on his lip a little, Ignis picked up the camera again and flipped it around. The lens whirled and popped out. He leaned back, squinting, then turned it back around urgently to disable the flash.

Goodness, this was much more difficult than what Prompto had ever made it look. How on _Eos—_

His phone buzzed in his jean pocket. Frowning, Ignis tugged it out and unlocked his screen.

_From: Monica Elshett_

_-2/06/00-_

_[11:39] We have an antidote ready. Would tonight at your apartment, approximately 21:00, be suitable? ~meow_

Raising an eyebrow, Ignis sank down onto the bed, careful to rest the camera down softly before he replied.

_To: Monica Elshett_

_-2/06/00-_

_[11:41] I see no issue with that. Why is your text ending… that?_

A reply came through almost immediately:

_From:  Monica Elshett_

_-2/06/00-_

_[11:42] Cor made my messages do that. I have no idea how to remove it. ~meow_

_Please help. ~meow_

Ignis bit back a smile.

_To: Monica Elshett_

_-2/06/00-_

_[11:45] You’ll have to ask Prompto once we return to our own bodies. It could be a catastrophe otherwise._

His grin widened as soon as his mobile buzzed.

_From: Monica Elshett_

_-2/06/00-_

_[11:46] A what now ~meow_

_IGNIS ~meow_

He pocketed his phone and returned to the more important manners; mainly, the camera staring back at him.

Shaking his head, Ignis held it out again and stared at the lens. On a sheer whim, he flashed a peace sign and a smile right before clicking the capture button. The camera beeped; after a small struggle, he made it to the gallery, to the latest image. Of him – of _Prompto_ – smiling, small and unsure and more than identical to Ignis’s own smile.

Certainly, the image was of _Prompto_. It was his goatee on his chin. His freckles, slightly more visible than before, speckled across smiling cheeks. His eyes, squinting, with that peculiar shade between violet and blue that Ignis could never quite deduce. His strands of blond hair, falling loose around his narrow cheeks, freed of any gel, the edges faintly glimmering from the sunlight pouring in from behind his head.

Really, though, it was _Ignis_ smiling back, wearing an expression that the Prompto Ignis remembered never would have worn. Then again, maybe he would have had. It wasn’t as though he’d been able to see.

He stared at it for what felt like much too long. He didn’t delete the image. Instead, smiling to himself a little, he turned the camera around and posed for many more.

Bit by bit, the quality of each image improved, even by just a little. In the fourth, his left cheek wasn’t cut off. The sixth, the top of his head didn’t leave the screen. The eleventh, he managed to keep both eyes open.

But he kept going back to that first attempt. Staring at that hesitant smile, at the peace sign not quite fully raised, at the slight tilt of the image. There was _something_ in it that the others lacked; a sincerity, almost, that only lived in that fraction of a moment. The others felt too clean, too professional, too impersonal. As though a stranger had taken them and not a dear friend.

The afternoon sun was slumbering between drifting clouds when Ignis stood and headed to the kitchen. The printer he had spotted earlier was already plugged in, the power switched on, paper sticking out of the top of it. A cable dangled from it onto the tiled floor; Ignis picked it up, and a minute later, managed to wrestle the end into a tiny slot in the camera.

He sank into the chair, its groan the only noise echoing in the silence. The room – the _house_ – seemed to be hanging onto the edge of a moment, waiting for someone to disturb its haunting lull.

Then, as all printers seemed wont to do, the device hacked and spluttered and coughed to life, its speedy whirls squealing in Ignis’ ears.  A page was gulped whole, like a famished chocobo vacuuming down greens. Seconds later, it spat out exactly what Ignis had wanted.

He waited, for a few seconds, or perhaps minutes, until he was certain the ink had dried. Then, and only then, did he pick up the page by the ear of its corner. He bent down to turn off the power and disconnected the camera, holding it in his other hand as he left the room.

On his way out, though, his fingers bumped a pen on the table. He picked it up, uncapping the bitten lid and scribbled a message on the back of the photograph. Then, he set the pen back on the table, smiled at what he wrote, and went off again.

The camera made a soft thud as Ignis set it on Prompto’s bedside table. Holding the picture in both hands, he stared at the countless photographs that fluttered in the breeze. The room was otherwise silent. Somewhere, far away, he heard a dog bark. The low whine of cars drifting through empty streets. Quiet murmurs of people walking underneath the open window, the noises of a living world.

Splotches of blue putty were scattered across the wall, peeking out from between what few gaps there were. Ignis peeled them all off, slowly but surely, rolling it into a ball in his palm until he was sure that he had enough.

Hoping that Prompto would forgive him, he gently peeled a photo – one of the four of them atop the Rock of Ravatogh, flushed and drowning in sweat but all grinning widely – from the middle of the collection, sticking it to where he could see the largest gap. He repeated with other photos – there was one of Ignis and Gladio, Ignis resting his elbow on his shoulder as Gladio pointed out mushrooms hidden in a tree’s shadow. Another photo, one of Noct sitting on the grounds of Hammerhead, smiling softly at the camera as he made to push himself up, made Ignis bite his lip and duck his head until the stab of pain lessened to a familiar ache in his heart… he moved them all, one by one, until he had a clear space.

He plopped a blob of blue putty onto each of the corners of the photograph he held, then inhaled and stuck it onto the wall, smoothing out the bumps with the heel of his hand. He stood back, once, twice, until he was eye-to-eye with the photo, and smiled.

At that moment, his phone rung. He didn’t need to look at the caller’s name.

“Prompto?”

_“Hey.”_

Silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Ignis shut his eyes and felt the wind’s chill ghost over his hair.

“Did you need something?”

 _“Can you come back?”_ Prompto asked, voice crackling over the poor connection. He sounded determined, more so than what Ignis had heard from him for many months.

Prompto’s bed creaked as Ignis leaned on it, hand digging into a loose spring. He looked over his shoulder, to the only photograph of Prompto, in the centre of the gallery of memories. To arguably the most important person of them all, of the treasurer of such moments, and the only person who never appeared.

“Certainly. Is everything well?”

On the other end of the phone, he heard Prompto exhale.                                                    

_“We – I want to talk.”_

“On my way.”

_“Thanks.”_

He hung up. Staring at that photograph, with hues of afternoon glistening off the walls, Prompto’s words in Ignis’ voice echoing in his ears, it felt as though they were finally beginning to move forward.

* * *

 

The scent of dinner – damp, faint, somewhat like rice – wafted though as Ignis removed his shoes in the hall, careful to place them out of the way. He couldn’t stop the trickling of omen in his gut, the heavy feeling that exhausted his limbs, but he headed into the kitchen anyway.

Prompto’s hands stilled in the sink, the gushing water running over his nails. On the counter next to him were a series of small rice balls; not quite spherical, but certainly far from an awful attempt, especially from one without sight. They certainly _smelled_ good enough to eat.

“Ignis?” Prompto’s voice was small.

“It’s me.”

Prompto turned his neck so that his uninjured side was facing Ignis. His shoulders were tense.

“You called me, asking for me to return. You wanted to talk?”

 _Finally,_ Prompto relaxed, a sheepish smile blossoming; to him, as natural as breathing came for humans. “Yeah, I did. Dinner’s pretty much ready.” He shook out his hands, droplets of water spraying about as he searched for a cloth. Ignis handed him one, then turned the tap off with a small squeal. “Thanks. Would you…”

“Certainly.” Ignis pulled out two cups, filled them with water, and set them on the table. There was something so... _domestic_ , about all of this. It was a keen reminder of his childhood days, memories of his uncle and his boyfriend sitting around the kitchen table, chattering and laughing to one another, hands held tight. Neither of them _had_ been home terribly often – weekly, usually – but they always had made room for Ignis and had showered him with nothing but love. The only reason they had never married, his uncle had told him once, was because Insomnia’s attitude to queer individuals was far from ideal, especially to married couples. That, he had said with a wry smile, was possibly the only thing Niflheim had done better than Lucis.

He stared at Prompto. Wondered, briefly, then not so briefly, about what his childhood must have been like. He tried to force himself away from such thoughts, but all that did was make him think on how lonely his home would be once all of this was over. Prompto would return to his own house, and if things were to return to the way they had been…

“You alright?” Prompto asked hesitantly. Ignis shook himself.

“Apologies. I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“About how divine this dinner smells.” Ignis smiled. “You’re much better at cooking than what I would have thought.”

“Well, y’know, I wasn’t _awful_ to start off with. Kinda had to always cook for myself.” A cupboard door thundered shut in Prompto’s hand. “And – besides. There isn’t much else to do. Might as well learn how to cook decently, right?”

Ignis had never even _considered_. He wanted to apologise, but the words choked deep in his throat, and he suspected that Prompto wouldn’t accept such an apology.

Instead, he laid out plates for them both, waited for Prompto to distribute the food, then brought both plates to the table.

“So,” Ignis said, a fork resting on his plate. “What did you wish to discuss?”

Prompto’s head shot up. “You wanna talk about it _now_?”

“Indeed.”

He exhaled. Fists clenching in his lap, he glanced at his untouched cutlery, then sighed again, groaning and throwing his head back.  “Okay,” he began, hesitantly, in the tone of voice he used when he was about to suggest an idea that he _knew_ Ignis would loathe. Ignis jabbed a rice ball and waited. “You’re probably gonna get pissed at me for even _suggesting_ this, but…” He swallowed and finally looked at Ignis. His fists rested on the table, the sound softer than a chocobo’s feather. “But what if we – I don’t know, just – didn’t switch bodies?”

Ignis’s fork stopped just before his mouth. He lowered it.

“I… beg your pardon?”

“I mean, obviously, we’d keep the antidote for when the time comes—“

“When _what_ time comes?” Ignis interrupted, a good bit sharper than he had intended. He dropped his fork onto the table.

Prompto shifted on the seat, tearing at his lip with his teeth. “Well, uh, I don’t know how true it is, but MTs – I mean, people born like me… don’t have long lifespans.”

Ignis’s heart froze. “…I beg your—“

“I mean, Ar _\- he_ told me that, so I don’t know how – how true it is.” Prompto was wringing his fingers together furiously enough that it must have hurt. “But – yeah.”

Ignis stared. And stared. And _stared._

Prompto shifted again.

Raising his fingers to his forehead, Ignis rubbed in a vain attempt to get rid of the headache that he could _sense_ would soon come. “Allow me to get this straight,” he began, and when Prompto didn’t latch onto the opportunity to say that, hey, none of them were straight, his heart thudded uncomfortably in his tight chest. “You wish for us to remain as we currently are, for the rest of our lives – and from what you are implying…” His heart squeezed harder, somehow. This – _this_ was a topic that they would have to return to, soon. “That due to your origins, you do not have a long lifespan. Therefore, when this body is about to pass – _that_ is when you want to use the antidote, so that…” The next words were impossibly heavy. “…You can die in your own body.”

Silence.

“…You, uh, didn’t have to put it like _that_.” Prompto’s lip was bitten raw, but he seemed to take no heed of it. “It’s just – so that, y’know, you can have sight for as long as possible.”

“That’s _it_?” The chair rattled behind Ignis as he stood up. Prompto startled. “You wish to make decisions for me that you have no right making!? Decisions that are, may I add, completely illogical and completely stupid!”

“I-Ignis—“

“You have _no_ right!” Ignis roared, stepping forward. “Prompto, you have no right to determine this! If I wish to return to my original body, I _will_ return to my own body! Why you wish to remain in a blind man’s body is, quite truthfully, baffling!”

The Prompto from ten years ago, from before that damned train, maybe even from before Altissia, would have shrunk back, apologising, attempting a smile to defuse the situation. That Prompto and _this_ Prompto, however, were two very different people. Prompto’s eye narrowed into a slit. His hands became fists.

“Well, then, why do _you_ want to go back to a blind man’s body?” he snapped, entire body heaving. His breaths were sharp and deep, shuddering his chest. “You’re – you’re the more useful person—“

“ _Ten years later_ and you’re _still_ going on about such nonsense!?”

Prompto shook his head furiously, like a voretooth snaring prey between its jaws. “You don’t understand!”

“Oh, I think I do! You think yourself useless? _Worthless_? Less than nothing!?”

Prompto winced with each sentence, shaking his head softly, but it wasn’t out of denial; Ignis suspected – at this point, _more_ than suspected – that he didn’t want to hear his own thoughts spoken aloud, as if the world didn’t already know about them. As if Ignis hadn’t been exposed to them in every dream he had experienced, good and bad. As if he hadn’t felt every moment of self-hatred in his veins, the toxic roots of worthlessness growing and encompassing his entire body.

“You think yourself all those things when you are the exact opposite! Do you listen to any of us at _all_!?”

Silence.

“Or am I wrong!?” Ignis drew back, a chill of clarity coursing through his veins. “Do you _pity_ me for my lack of sight? Do you see my blindness as that great an impediment?”

“Ignis, _listen_ to me—“

“I think I’ve heard quite enough nonsense from you!” Ignis’ nails dug deep into his palms, and as he scraped them along the flesh he could feel blood swelling. He breathed through his nose, hissing, trying and failing to reign in his temper. He was difficult to anger, true, but Ignis knew that when he _was_ angered, very little could calm him. It had always been a weakness of his, and in this moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when Prompto was being so _asinine_. “Don’t you _dare_ pity me, Prompto. Don’t.”

Prompto surged forward, fists shaking. “Well, then, stop pitying _me_!”

“I don’t _pity_ you—“

“So why do you think I pity _you_!?” Prompto drew back, shoulders tense, crossing his arms tightly. “You’re – _Gods_ , Ignis, you’re one of the strongest people I know. Why the hell would I _pity_ you? I admire you, _so much_.”

Ignis knew, though. Now, more than ever, back to a routine resembling a normal life, he had felt the countless lingering stares on his back while in public. The hushed whispers between friends, the gawks at his scars, the awkwardness of people who didn’t know how to behave around those who they didn’t deem as ‘normal’. Never mind that he had been chamberlain to the king. Never mind his own achievements. Never mind his hunting prowess.

No. Mind none of that.

To them, all that had ever mattered – and would matter – was the sickening scar across his left eye and the lack of sight in both.

It made his blood boil, the few times he dared to think about it. How _dare_ they reduce him down to his blindness! He was blind, true, but it did not define who he was; he was so much more than a ‘cripple’, and yet all anyone ever gazed at him with was with pity. He didn’t need sight to see that.

He glanced up. Prompto was staring at him, face crestfallen.

“I don’t pity you,” he whispered, and Ignis knew that, for once, he was speaking the truth. “I have _never_ pitied you.”

Ignis inhaled again. He squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden tightness in them.

“…What, pray tell, makes you believe that _I_ have ever pitied you?”

“Well—“ Prompto began, and then said no more. He glanced away.

“Prompto?”

The chair squeaked as Prompto collapsed in it. Ignis’s meal was cold when he tested it with his fork.

“I mean.” Prompto sighed. “Everyone else has.”

“Have they?”

“Well, yeah. Sure feels like it.” He ran his fork along the edge of his plate, eye blank, cheek cupped in one hand. “Even from when I was a kid. Parents’ evening, when my parents never showed up. Couldn’t miss the teachers always staring at me when they thought I wasn’t looking.” His fork stopped moving. “I mean, even Noct’s dad showed up a couple of times.”

“And yours never did,” Ignis finished softly. He remembered, a lifetime ago, when Noct had asked him to come in as his guardian as his father had been too busy to attend. He remembered sitting in the tiny plastic chairs, half-listening to the teachers tell him what he already knew, paying attention only to the movement of Noct’s fingers as he texted someone whose identity he refused to reveal.

It must have been Prompto.

Prompto’s shoulders hunched. “And then, they – they had _some_ idea, I think. About the other stuff. Teachers would always pull me aside after class, ask if everything was okay, if I was eating okay, if I was stressed, if I had enough support at home. All that kind of stuff.”

“And you always insisted that everything was fine?”

“Duh.” He jabbed his fork into the cold mushy mess of his rice balls. “Other people needed support way more than I did. Thought I could handle myself.”

“Prompto…”

“It’s pathetic,” he whispered, as though Ignis hadn’t spoken at all. “I was a _kid_ back then. The world ended. Noct’s dead. I’m thirty now. Why the hell am I still so hung-up about everything?” His fork scraped on the full plate.

Ignis stared at him and wondered: _how could anyone pity you? How could anyone pity someone as strong as you?_

Despite his origins, despite his childhood, despite his family, Prompto had grown up only giving love and expecting nothing in return. It would have been easy, _so_ easy, for him to become twisted and jaded, like far too many children Ignis had seen. For him to give up on everything and believe that he had nothing to look forward to in life.

He hadn’t, though. Despite that all, he had been nothing but kind, nothing but generous and compassionate and a thousand other words Ignis could say. His heart swelled.

Indeed, a lesser person may have pitied Prompto for any number of reasons; his origins, his adoptive ‘parents’, his loneliness, his anxiety, his eating disorder, his scars, the torments that he had been put through. And that was just what Ignis knew. Perhaps he would never know the full extent.

But those people did not realise the vaster multitude of reasons for why Prompto was to be admired; his strength, his fierce love of the people he did care for, his determination, his kindness, his compassion, his resilience, his courage, his _humanity_.

And he would never know the full extent of his virtues, for he held far too many for any one person to count.

That type of mental strength was much more difficult to possess than any physical strength, and rarer than a black chocobo in winter.

Ignis exhaled.

“You’re much stronger than what you will ever realise, Prompto.”

Prompto snorted—

“I _mean_ it,” Ignis said firmly. His mind flashed back to that moment in Prompto’s house, writing on the back of that photograph. “You _are_.”

There was silence for a long while. Then, Prompto looked up, slowly, a weak smile on his face. His visible eye was shining as he rested his hand on the table. In that second, Ignis wanted nothing more than to reach across and squeeze it.

“…You mean that?” he whispered.

“Of course,” he said immediately.

Prompto ducked his head with a quiet, almost shy laugh. He brushed a hand over his ear, tucking back the strands of Ignis’s hair; he hadn’t applied any gel to it, and it hung around his sharp cheeks.

That scar still glared, but instead of flinching, Ignis stared right back. He took in every detail of himself, from the arch of his nose to the tiny scars speckled across his face. The mole under his mouth, the two scattered on his left cheek, to the milky dim green eye that stared at him, to the light blush over his cheeks.

He memorised everything. This time tomorrow, he wouldn’t be able to see himself ever again.

“I hope I can believe you, one day,” Prompto murmured.

“I would love nothing more.”

High, nervous laughter ringed in the air, stranger still that it was in Ignis’s voice. Prompto rubbed his neck, grinning sheepishly, turning his face away.

“F-finish your – uh, food. Dinner.”

Chuckling to himself, Ignis did just that, despite how the cold rice balls sat sour on his tongue. Food was food, after all, and they’d certainly had much worse.

When they were both done, Ignis scraped back his chair—

“There’s something I _have_ to show you,” Prompto began. Ignis stopped all movement, hand frozen on the edge of the chair. “There’s this place, right, with an _amazing_ view. I know Monica’s comin’ tonight with the antidote – she texted me too – but…” His fingers twiddled together, the tips pressing against one another. “I was hopin’ we could go there before she arrives?”

“Certainly. Is it far?”

“Nah, only about twenty minutes.” Prompto bounced up in the chair, a loud ‘smack’ vibrating the table. He winced and rubbed at his knee, grinning. “ _Ignoring_ that.”

“Shall we go now?” Ignis asked, unable to hide his smile.

“Just lemme get my shoes on!”

* * *

 

It was a peaceful walk; one spent in silence, not at all uncomfortable. The only words spoken had been when Prompto had asked for a smoke, and Ignis had given his approval. Quite a few people had waved at them, unfamiliar faces lighting up with pleasant recognition. Ignis had made sure to return the greeting for each and every one of them, silently wondering how Prompto couldn’t see just how loved he was.

Well. Not that he could see much of anything right now.

He snorted. Prompto raised an eyebrow, but Ignis shook his head and Prompto just smiled back.

“I see a sign,” he murmured as the uphill stone path finally came to flatness, more winded than he’d dare confess.

Grinning, Prompto plucked the cigarette out of his mouth, allowing it to plop onto the pebbles. Ignis watched him grind it under his foot with expert precision, then clap his hands and skip a couple steps forward. He watched the curling embers, the dying smoke, then looked up to the present.

“Oh, we’re here, then!” Prompto announced, and then promptly walked into the railing. He leaped back, hissing, swatting at his knees and making pained noises. “Okay, _ouch_ ; good thing that railing was there, huh? Be a shitty way to go – the _legendary_ Crownsguard, Prompto Argentum, lost in battle. Cause of death? Toppling off a big hill.”

Ignis didn’t reply. He couldn’t. He stood there, jaw slack, for what must have been a good ten seconds before he stepped forward.

The view spreading out in front of him, of Insomnia illuminated by the late sunset, streaks of light bouncing off crumbling skyscrapers clustered in the city centre, was one he never thought he’d be able to see again. There was nary a cloud in the sky as the sun dipped low below the horizon. The ocean was almost _golden_ with its rays. From where he was standing, no sounds came from the city, only the gentle buzzing and chirping of wildlife in the greenery behind them.

It was beauty. It was peace. It was everything that they had spent their lives fighting for.

His vision blurred. He flexed his hands on the railing, still staring, and it was only when he felt coldness dripping down his cheek that he pulled away.

He glanced over. Prompto was silent, tilting his head back, Ignis’s bed hair ruffling in the late afternoon breeze. He hummed in contentment, no doubt enjoying the heat that filtered in amongst the canopy of tree leaves above them, peeking in-between the shadows.

“You alright, Iggy?”

“I’m fine,” he said, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. _This_ had been why Prompto was so eager to bring him there. This could never be described by words alone.

He inhaled.

“I never thanked you.”

Prompto hummed, slowly raising his head from atop his crossed arms. He kept one arm on the railing as he turned. “Nothin’ to thank me for, dude.”

“Quite the opposite, I think. For everything you did, for all of us.”

Understanding flashed across his face. Prompto turned so that his back was leaning on the railing. His elbows clanged and rested on it. “That was years ago,” he murmured, looking up at a sky that he couldn’t see. “Don’t sweat it. I did what anyone would have done.”

“I think not.”

“Well, what else was I meant to do?” Prompto’s voice was a perfect pretence of casualness. He glanced at Ignis, for a fraction of a second, then let out a shuddering sigh. His fists clenched around the railing as he leaned back as far as he could. “Wasn’t much else I _could_ do.”

“What you did was more than enough.”

He turned his head with a confused noise. “You mean that?”

“Certainly.”

Prompto broke out into a wide smile. “Thanks, dude. Glad to know it paid off.”

“It more than paid off, at least for myself.” Ignis flexed his hands on the railing, craned his neck and watched how the burst of light bouncing off the metal faded and moved as he did. He glanced up, to that beautiful setting sun, to the rays of twilight that he’d never be able to see again. “And you?”

Prompto joined him, his shoulder brushing against Ignis’s as he leaned. He started at the touch, but for less than a second, and only with a tiny jump. Then he smiled. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I think everything worked out as well as it could have had.”

“Even though Noct is no longer with us?” His heart shook and squeezed at his friend’s name being murmured through tight lips.

“Yeah, even despite that.” Prompto’s laugh was sharp. The railing squeaked around his fists. “Man, I hate the Astrals. But…” He turned towards Ignis. “He’s with Lady Lunafreya now, right?” A smile softer than clouds. “Hope they got the wedding they deserve.”

“Indeed.”

“Noct’s dad’s gonna be up there too, right? And Gladio’s dad. And…” His eye drifted over to Ignis.

“And my uncle, yes. His boyfriend too, most likely.”

Prompto made a small laugh, ducking his head and smiling. “One heck of a wedding they’re gonna be having,” he murmured, voice nostalgic. “Good thing they don’t have to worry about the cost, huh?”

Ignis couldn’t help his snort. “Somehow, I suspect that is the least of their concerns.”

“Who’s gonna be the best man?”

“Ulric, most likely.”

“Huh.” It was more of a noise than a word. Still, Prompto was smiling, as though thinking of a secret only he was privy to. Goodness knew that he possessed many of them… but maybe that wasn’t such an awful thing. “I’m happy for them.”

“As am I.” Ignis glanced over to him, then to the sunset. He held out his hand and twisted it, watching the shadows of leaves curl, before clenching it. “Aren’t you missing a couple of guests?”

“Huh?” Prompto turned his head. “I am?”

“Your own parents.” _If you could even call them that_ , Ignis did not say. He didn’t need to.

Silence, broken not even by the open and closing of Prompto’s mouth. His eye slid shut, fingers curling slowly around the railing, face flickering through a multitude of expressions with rapid-fire.

Then, he made a soft scoff, smile impossibly fond. His head was still lowered, body slouched over the railing. One foot tapped behind his other heel.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, they’d be there. They wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“They wouldn’t?”

“They weren’t bad people.” Prompto’s voice was firm as he turned to face Ignis, standing up straight. “…At least, my actual mother wasn’t. I realise that now.”

“Your _actual_ mother?”

“Well—” Prompto made a quiet noise that was maybe meant to be a laugh. “Hyacinth, even if I saw her less.”

Ignis said nothing.

“I know it’s probably naïve of me to say that. Maybe the ten years’ve softened what few memories I’ve got of ‘em. But…” Prompto took a deep breath through his nose and nodded. “I don’t think they were all bad. No one is.”

Ignis quirked an eyebrow.

“ _Okay_ , maybe not—” He waved a hand absently. “You get what I mean.”

“Indeed.”

“I don’t think anyone’s just – _bad_. Not even… not even Ardyn.” The grimace on Prompto’s face, the way his hand tightened around the shirt cuff on his right wrist, made Ignis’s heart sink. “Everyone _thinks_ they’re good. Everyone’s got a reason for why they do what they do. A reason that’s more than good enough to them. Can you _really_ call anyone bad?”

“I…”

With high laughter, Prompto’s cheeks coloured as he looked away. “Got a bit carried away, heh.”

“No need to look so embarrassed.” Goodness, Ignis hoped that _he_ didn’t blush that violently. The tips of his ears were tinged red, and the colour crept down under the collar of his shirt. Prompto hadn’t done the top two buttons; Ignis resisted the twitch in his fingers to fix them up and smooth down the fabric. “You raise valid points, ones that I myself had failed to consider.”

Prompto made a squeak of a noise, burying his cheeks in his hands. “ _Stooooop_ it!”

Ignis chuckled. “Why should I? You _are_ intelligent, much more than what you give yourself credit for—”

“I _swear_ to Shiva,” Prompto grumbled into his hands. “If I wasn’t blind right now, I’d hit you _so hard_.”

“And if I was the blind one?”

“Eh, you’re tough, you can manage.” Prompto lowered his hands, slowly.

“And so are you.”

And the hands shot back up immediately.

“ _Igggggy_!” He threw his head back with a groan, but when he dropped his hands, there was a goofy smile stretching chapped lips. He glanced over towards Ignis’s direction. “Thanks, dude.”

They fell into a silence; a comfortable one, to be sure, but it didn’t last for long. Prompto kept making little humming noises, drumming his fingers against the railing, shuffling his feet, the way he did when he was truly relaxed and not self-conscious of his every movement.

It was rare, to find him like this. Ignis felt almost… privileged, he supposed. Precious few people got to observe this moment.

Prompto made a loud exhale.

“…Prompto?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I…” Ignis sighed. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure! Go right ahead.”

“Why did you decide to join the Crownsguard?”

Prompto blinked, fingers freezing tight.

Ignis crossed his arms. “You certainly didn’t have to. What few commoners there were were viewed poorly. It was a position for life. Hardly a decision to take lightly.”

“Well.” Prompto’s lips curved into that fond shape again, but there was little warmth. “Wasn’t like there was much else I _could_ do. Didn’t have the money for further education. Didn’t want to be stuck in that house any longer. When Noct asked me, I just thought – ‘why not? I’ve got nothing else to do with my life.'”

Ignis didn’t dare look up. There were scruffs in the shoes, cracks of white stretching like veins across the worn leather.  “…I’d always envied you, for that.”

Prompto whirled around. “ _You_ were jealous of _me_?”

“You had a choice.” Ignis shut his eyes; it was a struggle to speak past the tightness in his throat, the _shame_ of feeling such emotion. “You _chose_ to serve Noct, to become Crownsguard. Gladio and I… we never had such an option.” He linked his hands behind his back and looked up, through what remained of the sunset. “It didn’t matter what we wanted. We were born into our duties, and we had to perform them.”

“What _did_ you want to do?”

“I…”

There was a lengthy silence. What _he_ wanted…

It wasn’t a question he allowed himself to dwell on for too long, no matter the frequency of which the thought wormed into his mind, because it had never _mattered_. Not while he had a duty to perform, not while he had royalty to serve… and it was meant to be that way for the rest of his life.

But _now…_

Well.

“I wanted… to be a historian.”

“So you _want_ to be a historian,” Prompto said, and when Ignis could bring himself to look up, his smile was small but sincere. “What’s stopping you now?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Prompto rolled an eye to the best of his ability. “If you say _this_ —” He jabbed to the scar over his left eye—“I’m gonna punch you. Gently. You’ve worked _past_ all that. Hell, when you were investigating the tombs, you had Talcott with you, right? He read out stuff to you, didn’t he, and helped you?”

“He did, but… it would be selfish to ask him to do so now.” Even as he said that, however, a treacherous seed of hope festered in his heart. Prompto was right, in a sense. He didn’t _have_ any duties holding him back.

It was similar to what Gladio had told him, that night prior. He didn’t have a purpose, not now, but he was _free_. And there was nothing stopping him from finding his own. It didn’t have to be as grandiose as ‘serve and aid the future king’. It could be something for him and him alone.

Well…

Maybe not _alone_.

“Don’t ask him, then. Find someone who loves history as much as you do.” A warmth of a hand rested on Ignis’s arm, for less than a second. “I still remember how excited you got, when we first got to Titan. How eager you were to research everything.”

Ignis felt his own cheeks heat. “Y-yes, but…”

“You’re not the only person in Eos who loves history. Trust me, you’ll find someone.” Prompto elbowed his side. “And ‘sides, think of all the stuff we gotta record now! Noct’s reign! The ten years!” His face shadowed. “… _Ardyn_.” He visibly swallowed, a thin sheen of cold sweat on his face. He swallowed again. “So much stuff happened. Who better to record it than someone who stood at the Chosen King’s side the entire time?”

“…Prompto…”

“Am I wrong?” His grin was as playful as his voice.

He wasn’t. They both knew he wasn’t.

“I’ll consider it, perhaps,” Ignis said. Prompto’s grin softened into something more genuine.

“I’m glad.”

“What about you, then?”

“Ehhh, I’ll find something.” Prompto flipped a hand, grinning. “Got the rest of my life to figure it out, right? Maybe not as _long_ a life as you guys, but – I’ll get _something_.”

He turned away, lightning quick, but not fast enough to hide the tremble in his shoulders. Frowning, Ignis reached out; stopped at the last second, clenched his hand instead and let it drop to his side.

“You’re… you’re still human, Prompto.”

He made an unkind noise, a wet kind of snort. “Sure,” he croaked, “if you say so.”

“Prompto, look at me.”

A small laugh. “Bit hard to do that, don’t you think?”

“You know what I mean.”

It was a while, before he turned, but he did, a gleam in his right eye that Ignis didn’t look at for too long. He sighed, clenching both hands.

“May I touch you?”

“Y-yeah. Sure.”

Ignis rested a hand on his shaking shoulder. Words from nightmares long past, dreams that haunted them all, echoed in his mind.

“…Iggy?”

“You’re _human_. Always have been, always will be.”

In that moment, Prompto _broke_. He trembled, shoulders shuddering, and then his sturdy arms coiled around Ignis’s back and pulled. Ignis stumbled at the sheer _strength_ in them, but stood perfectly still. Prompto buried his forehead into his shoulder. He was gasping, wheezing, all his breaths catching in his throat and quivering worse than any earthquake.

“I don’t know—” A heave—“I _don’t_ – I don’t _know_.”

“It’s alright.” Childhood memories, of Noct in his arms, after a bad nightmare, bad thoughts – any number of reasons, really, bit at Ignis’s heart, but he remained firm. “Let it out. It’s alright.” Ignis rested his hands on his back, loosely, and stared away, giving an illusion of privacy.

Prompto didn’t stay for long. Soon enough, he pushed himself off Ignis, hands twitching at his sides. Ignis stood back, gave him space, and waited.

“I don’t know,” Prompto said, voice broken. He didn’t look at Ignis. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what _my_ purpose is.”

“I can’t answer that for you,” Ignis said softly. The faint scent of nicotine brought to mind memories of a mother’s touch, of soft words uttered under late moonlight. “That’s up to you. Only _you_ can determine your purpose.”

“I…” He sighed, biting his lip so tightly that it went white. “Is there even a point?”

Ignis frowned. “What makes you believe that there wouldn’t be?”

“Well, y’know.” Prompto tried for another laugh; his voice rattled even more than before. One day, Ignis hoped, _dearly_ , that he would be shaken out of that habit. Of feeling as though he had to laugh off his troubles, his thoughts, as though they weren’t the time of day compared to everyone else’s. Ignis was guilty of that, he knew, but… “Not much point finding a ‘purpose in life’—” His fingers made little air quotes, his mouth still smiling— “If I ain’t gonna be around for much longer.”

Ignis’s heart _plummeted_. “Prompto, don’t say that. You’re—”

The smile went. “I know I’m not a MT.” Prompto sighed. “I know that.” He shook his head. “But I’m not human, either. Not in the same way as you guys. But that doesn’t _matter_. I’m _me_. There’s only one me; the _real_ me.” His eyes flickered to Ignis. “But… I can’t escape my birth. Where I come from. If… if what—“ Prompto swallowed— _“A-Ardyn_ said – was true, then…”

“We’ll find a way around it, I promise. He was lying, most likely. Attempting to distress you.”

“Yeah, well, it didn’t really work.” Prompto thudded a fist over his chest, grinning. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Will you ever tell us? What happened while you were gone?”

Ignis already knew the answer. He sighed and closed his eyes:

“One day, maybe.”

—And they flew open, wide. It took him several attempts to find his voice. “…Truly?”

“Yeah.” Prompto had his head craned back. The gentle breeze made the sandy brown strands of Ignis’s loose hair, freed from gel, sway. Ignis followed up from the frame of his visor, following Prompto’s gaze to a view his friend couldn’t see. He let out a sigh. “I mean, it’s like what you guys always tell me. Can’t keep this shit in forever, right? Just… don’t really know how to say it.”

The sun was dipping below the horizon. “That’s alright,” Ignis said. “Gladio and I, and everyone else. We’re all here for you.”

Prompto’s smile wrinkled at the edges. “And we’re all here for you, too.”

“We should be heading back.”

“In a minute,” Prompto whispered. “Just… wanna enjoy this. The two of us.”

Ignis gazed at him, smiling. “As do I. And, Prompto?”

“Hmm?”

“You _will_ find a purpose. We all will.”

Prompto smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, we will.”

* * *

 

There were people in the house when they had returned; Ignis must have forgotten to lock the door after him.

“Apologies for letting ourselves in,” Monica said from where she was sitting on the sofa’s arm. Prompto startled at her voice.

From the sofa, Iris gave a small wave, her smile tinged with apprehension. Gladio was beside her, the two of them both sharing that same smile, that same concern. Lauren was leaning on the wall next to them; she looked up when the door creaked open, her ring glistening in the evening sun.

Prompto was worrying at his lip.

“Monica,” Ignis greeted. His eyes caught two small bottles sitting on the table. “Are those…”

“The antidotes, yes.”

Prompto inhaled.

Monica’s eyes softened.

“If you want to, you two can take some time elsewhere.” She sighed, hands folded in front of her. “I understand that… this may be difficult.”

Prompto shook his head, eye steadfast. “Nah. Just a few minutes in the bedroom.”

Gladio’s eyebrows shot up. Ignis snorted, despite his best attempts, and coughed it away when Monica and Prompto both looked in his direction. Gladio’s eyebrows lowered, but he broke out into a grin and winked at Ignis. Iris elbowed him in the side, barely restraining a grin herself.

Honestly, the pair of them was as bad as each other.

“…Very well then.” Monica smiled at them. She squeezed Ignis’s elbow. “Take as long as you need.”

Once they were inside the bedroom, Ignis clicked the door shut behind him. With a dramatic sigh, Prompto threw himself onto the bed, arms sprayed out.

“So,” he said. “You ready to do this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Ignis sat down near him, looking out of the window at the last sunset he’d ever see. His heart gave a painful squeeze; _no,_ he told it. _This is what must be done._

“Thanks, Iggy,” Prompto murmured. “For just – I don’t know.” He raised a hand, then dropped it to the bed with a soft thud and a grunt. “Everything. Still being here.”

“And thank _you_ , for still being here as well.”

“Heh.” Prompto grinned. “You’re welcome.”

They dissolved into silence. After a short while, Prompto sat up again, fingers drumming against his thighs. He opened his mouth, shut it, and then—

“So. We ready to do this?”

“Go on ahead, Prompto. I have something I must do.”

“Alright,” Prompto said quietly. He stood up, threw a final look at Ignis, then opened the door. His footsteps faded from sound.

As soon as he was certain that he was alone, Ignis turned to the desk. Prompto’s phone sat there, small, unassuming, the catalyst of one of the worst moments of Ignis’s life.

Sighing, he picked it up and flipped it over, screen down, then pulled out his own mobile. With a heavy heart, he scrolled through the menus, to the settings, to the accessibility settings, and clicked on the ‘vision’ button.

As soon as he slid the talk-back option on:

_“Welcome, kupo! Do you wish to use the settings already set?”_

“Yes,” he murmured.

_“Welcome back, Iggy! Good evening, kupo!”_

Despite himself, he smiled.

With that done, he locked his screen and went back to Prompto’s device. He didn’t know if it was password-locked or not; he didn’t unlock the screen to see.

Instead, he pulled out the chocobo charm he had gotten earlier and bundled the string together at the top. It took a while – Crownsguard mobiles had always been infamous for having little in the way of decoration – but the sheer _satisfaction_ he felt when that string pushed through the tiny hole was unrivalled. He looped the charm through, pulling tight over the chocobo, and rested the phone back onto the table.

The wood clanked against the drawer. Sighing, he stood up.

Creaking the door open, Ignis prepared to lose his sight for the second time.

* * *

 

Hushed whispers gave way to utter silence when Ignis entered the crowded room. Not that he was paying any attention to any of them; all he saw in that moment was the bottle of clear liquid in Monica’s hand. Prompto already had one in his, smiling ruefully as Ignis stepped forward to receive his own.

Monica pressed the bottle into his hands. “Whenever you’re ready,” she murmured, glancing between them. She squeezed Ignis’s hand, caught in her own, before letting go and sitting down.

Ignis stared at the small, unassuming glass bottle in his hand. He ran a bare finger along the rim of the top, lost in the silence, looking at the translucent liquid that would somehow make things return to… whatever they had been before.

A questioning hum drew his attention; Prompto, looking at him, scarred eyebrow raised.

“Iggy?”

Ignis said nothing. All he could see was that liquid, swirling; very possibly the last thing he would ever see.

Damn it all, he thought he had _accepted_ this. He swallowed down a sudden lump in his throat, blinked away hot fire in his eyes. His sight slipped from the bottle to his bare wrist, to the scars, to the speckled burn marks he only noticed now, where skin was slightly redder and free of freckles. Lastly, he looked at that barcode, but only for less than a second; it wasn’t as though it mattered. Not to him, nor should it matter to anyone else.

Prompto opened his mouth. Closed it. His words came out as a murmur. “You don’t – you don’t _have_ to do this.” Despite his words, his mouth twisted down, frowning, eye hard with an emotion Ignis couldn’t place. “…Not if you don’t want to.”

“What do _you_ want to do?” Ignis shot back.

In that moment, no one – or nothing – else mattered. He didn’t see Monica sitting on the corner of the sofa, eyes flickering between the two of them. He didn’t see Gladio, tight-lipped, arms crossed, Lauren’s arm curled around his neck as she watched with an unreadable expression. He didn’t see Iris, leaning forward on the coffee table, mobile phone trapped in a fist, screen bright with a recent message sent to Sania.

No, he saw none of that. All he saw was Prompto’s startled expression slowly morph into a grin that Ignis could almost call crazed. White teeth flashed, and then Ignis watched him gulp down the bottle in one motion.

Smiling back, Ignis poured the liquid into his mouth. The texture – smooth, tasteless save from a hint of citrus – went down his throat easily, and soon he was staring at an empty bottle.

He heard a thump, yelling from several people, but he had no time nor sense to comprehend it; the world was fogging, blurring. His knees smacked something solid; the ground, he realised, and warm hands frantically slapped his body as his world faded to darkness forever.

* * *

 

Sensation was slow to return. The rustling of fabric as soon as he made a quiet groan. A hand – large, calloused, dry skin – resting on his wrist. The cool breeze of late-night air blowing through an open window, tickling his nose. Low murmurs of voices that stopped as soon as Gladio spoke.

“Iggy, you in there?”

Ignis tried opening his eyes. When his left only twitched, and his right failed to move at all, he couldn’t bring himself to move. There was a hollowness in his heart, his chest, his bones, one that both rattled him to his core and made his mind simply go ‘ _oh’_.

His left eye twitched again. When he forced it open, only shadows greeted him.

He hissed and squeezed it shut, turning away from Gladio’s hand.

“Ignis,” Gladio stressed, voice tighter than before. His hand shoved harder. “Is that you in there?”

“Of _course_ it is,” he snapped. He raised a hand to his face, fingers bumping against the visor, tracing the metallic frame and the lenses. Then, he slipped his hand underneath, on top of his left eye, and stilled at the raised, mottled skin that he felt under his fingertips. He ran a finger down his cheek, until the bumps smoothed out to normal skin, before bringing it back up over that scar that had become as familiar as breathing. Something a lot like acceptance chilled his veins.

He’d _known_ that this would happen, and yet…

He squeezed his eyes shut, until his tears no longer threatened to betray him.

Suddenly, he remembered the other scars that he had seen; the one across the bridge of his nose, the one on his bottom lip, the one stretched over his right eyebrow, and felt the ridges of them all under his finger. He had countless others on his chest and neck, he knew, ones that he kept concealed and no one else knew of.

Did _Prompto_ know? The thought made his stomach churn uneasily. He wouldn’t have been able to see them, true, but he would have been able to _feel_ them.

“Glad it worked,” Gladio murmured, making a sigh of relief. His hand fell from Ignis’s shoulder. “Prompto’s already awake, he’s in the kitchen with Sania.”

Ignis sat up from where he had been, deep in the sofa seat. “ _Sania_? She’s here?”

“Take it easy.”

“I _am_.”

Gladio exhaled, a small noise of frustration, but he didn’t stop Ignis as he stood onto his feet. He bumped a shin off the edge of the coffee table and gritted his teeth at the sharp pain. He’d gotten used to this before; he had spent _ten years_ without sight, he could adjust again in no time.

“How is Prompto?”

“He’s fine.” Gladio gently thumped his back, hand resting for a few seconds as he steered Ignis towards the door. Perhaps he thought he was being discrete, but Ignis wasn’t a child or an invalid, hadn’t been for many years. He pulled himself away from Gladio’s hand, away from the warmth of a friend closer to him than his family had ever been. “Think Sania’s givin’ him a bit of a hard time, though. Lauren’s with him.”

“Where are Iris and Monica?”

“Monica had to go do her duties.”

“Already?”

“Iggy, it’s noon.”

He stopped. Swallowed. “…Oh.” Then: “And Iris?”

 “Takin’ a call from Candice.”

“Candice?”

“Her girlfriend,” Gladio said, and it would have been impossible to miss the beaming grin in his voice.

“Oh, so she finally introduced herself to you?”

“Yeah, she seems cool.”

“Iris was… worried, I know. About telling you that she was attracted to more than one gender.”

Gladio sighed, the noise echoing in the quiet room. In the kitchen, they could hear Prompto squawking out a reply of some sorts to Sania’s question, and it was _such_ a relief to hear his friend’s own voice. A weight lifted from Ignis’s chest, a heaviness he hadn’t even been aware was there.

“It’s _stupid_ that she was,” he muttered. Iris’s pealing laughter rung high in the hallway. “I don’t care about that kinda shit. She can love and date whoever the hell she wants, long as they’re a decent person.”

Iris was making exaggerated kissing motions at her outheld phone, loud soppy kissing noises echoing. Fond giggling buzzed from the speaker. “I just – what kinda brother am I, if she’s _scared_ to tell me something like that?”

“It’s a reasonable reaction, I suspect. Insomnia… did not have the kindest of attitudes to queer individuals.”

“Yeah, Aranea said the same thing.” A sigh. “Suppose you don’t realise it, until you see how chill the rest of the world is with it.”

Another lull. Ignis placed a hand on the wall, then slowly leaned his back onto it, careful not to lose his footing. He crossed his arms and looked at where he could hear Gladio. “You and Iris didn’t have much contact over those ten years, did you?”

“Jeez, Iggy.“ A low chuckle and a ruffling sound, most likely Gladio rubbing the back of his neck, glancing away with a sheepish smile. “You don’t dance around, do you?”

“Why should I?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Gladio sighed. It didn’t take sight to know that he was gazing at his sister, listening to her chat and giggle on the phone. “I just… I couldn’t handle it, I guess. Lookin’ at her being forced to grow up when she shouldn’t have had to. She was in _high school_ when Insomnia fell. _Fifteen_ when the world ended.”

Ignis rested a hand on Gladio’s shoulder, finding it first time. “We weren’t much older, Gladio,” he murmured.

“I _know_ , but – you and I, we could handle it. Somewhat. We’d been trained to cope with whatever would happen to us.” A sharp laugh. “Gods knows how much worse I would have been if we hadn’t.”

“Iris received training too, did she not?”

“Only basic combat stuff. Self-defence, some diplomatic stuff—“ He could _hear_ Gladio’s mouth twist— “Other stuff as well, in case… well. In case I fell in the line of duty. She’d have to take up the mantle of the Shield.”

“A heavy burden, indeed.”

“Didn’t matter, did it? She still had to fight.” Gladio sighed. “I should have been there for her. I wasn’t, then, but I sure as hell can be now.”

“ _Glaaaddy_!” Iris sang. “Dees wants a selfie of us, c’mon over!”

“Dees?”

“It’s what she calls Candice.” Gladio snorted. “ _Relationships_ , huh?”

Ignis smiled. “You’d have a much better idea of them than I would, Gladio. The only relationship I’ve had is with yourself, all those years ago.”

Gladio smiled. “I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.”

“Gladdy, come on!” Iris called. “Y’know she’s impatient!”

“Do you _want_ to be in one, now?”

He sighed.

“I’m… not certain. I have no interest in sex. I’m not certain if I even have an interest in _romance_.”

“And, what, you think that means that there’s something wrong with you?”

“Of course not,” he murmured, but neither of them believed him. Gladio sighed, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Iggy—”

“Isn’t that the usual for relationships?” he blurted out. Was now even the time for such a conversation? “Apologies, ignore my—”

“There’s nothing _wrong_ with you Iggy. Some people are straight. Some people are gay. You’ve got bi, pan…” He sighed. “Look, I don’t know anything about this kinda stuff, but of course there’s gonna be people who aren’t interested in any. Nothing wrong with that.”

“But…”

“Maybe you thought you were gay, once. Maybe, now, you’re not. Who cares?”

“I… thank you, Gladio.”

A hand slapped his back. “Any time, Iggy. Now go and help Prompto out, eh?”

“ _Finally_!” Iris bemoaned. “Sheesh, that was fast!”

Gladio’s sheepish laugh lingered behind Ignis as he felt his way into the kitchen (“Gladdy, no, that’s the tonberry filter!” “Makes you look better than what you do right now.”), guided by quiet voices whose words he couldn’t make out. They stopped when his shoes slid against cool tiles.

A clap of hands ripped open the silence: “ _Ignis_!” Sania spoke. A frog croaked. So she _still_ had them with her. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, your little friend here’s not giving me a lot to work with.”

“He doesn’t _need_ to tell you anything,” Lauren snapped. Her voice was calm but steely, similar to how Gladio’s got when he was struggling to reign in his temper.

“Iggy!” Prompto cried, and _Gods_ , hearing his friend’s voice was enough to make him stumble. “Whoa, hey, you alright?” Footsteps clattered against the tiles, becoming progressively louder, until he could sense Prompto standing in front of him. “You _look_ fine…”

“Prompto.”

Prompto’s short, disbelieving laugh huffed breath onto Ignis’s chin. For the first time in a decade, he could perfectly imagine what his smile must have looked like; small, eyes looking down, but holding only warmth and not a single lie. “ _Man_ , I can’t believe this… back in our own bodies, huh?”

Ignis couldn’t stop himself from quirking a little smile. “You seem awfully pleased, especially after that ridiculous idea of yours earlier.”

Knuckles lightly smacked his bicep. “ _Heeeey_ , we all make mistakes! _Especially_ —“

“Prompto.”

“Right. Less self-depreciation, got it.” Prompto sighed dramatically. “ _Gods_ , Iggy, you’re a hard man to please.”

“Am I, now?” He smiled. “And yet I am, pleased beyond words, simply because we are back where we belong.”

“In our own bodies?” Prompto hummed. “Yeah, dude.” His voice dropped; he leaned in, resting a hand on Iggy’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

From this close, he could hear Prompto swallow. Looking for the correct words to say, most likely nibbling on that lip he never left alone. Ignis could feel the light scab on his own.

“Waking up like that,” he whispered. “I mean – it was a shock to _me_ , wakin’ up and… being able to _see_ stuff. Can’t even begin to imagine what it must’ve been like for you.”

“It was the right decision.”

“ _Ignis_ …”

“I’m fine, I assure you.” He sighed. “Just… not here, Prompto. Not in front of the others.”

Prompto startled and squawked, boots squeaking as he turned. “H-heyas!”

“How nice of you to remember us,” Sania said, voice flat. Lauren snorted with laughter.

“Ehehe, sorry…”

Fingertips rattled against the table top impatiently. “Are you ready to talk _now_?” Sania drawled. Ignis heard the tell-tale squelch of wet tiny steps.

“Does she have a _frog_ on the table?” Ignis demanded, and his voice certainly hadn’t gone high.

Prompto quietly laughed. A warmth of a skinny arm brushed against his own; a few hours ago, he had been the one with that arm. He blinked at the thought. “Just the one.”

“ _Just_ the one?”

“I’ll wash it after.”

“A _frog_ —"

“Sheesh, you boys don’t know how to handle much, do you?” Sania grumbled. There was a high-pitched, confused sounding croak, then the shuffling of something being shoved into a pocket. Her fingers resumed tapping. “Now, as I was asking…”

“Asking about what?” Ignis felt for a chair. His fingers gripped the blunt top of it and he slowly settled himself into it, silently proud of himself when he sat down with ease. Adjustment, hopefully, wouldn’t be as difficult as he had anticipated.

A clap. Lauren sighed. “About what happened to you two,” she drawled. A boot rhythmically smacked the table leg. “Yeagre here wants _every_ detail.”

“Indeed!” A chair eagerly scraping against tiles. “So, the sooner we begin—“

“That,” Lauren interrupted, voice steely. “Of _course_ , is only if you two wish to divulge. If not? Totally understandable. It couldn’t have been an easy few weeks for either of you.”

There was a long silence. Beside him, Prompto was quiet; and then he let out a relieved sigh, and Ignis could imagine the small, serene smile spreading across his face.

“…Thanks,” Prompto breathed.

“I _suppose_ that is only fair,” Sania grumbled. “But I would like to hear _eventually._ When the two of you are ready.”

“Why?” Lauren demanded, voice sharp.

“In case we have future incidents of this. That monster – which I believe you boys have the honour of gifting a name to – couldn’t have been the only one of its type. Who knows when someone else could be affected?” A sigh. “What if they are strangers, and not acquaintances?”

“Acquaintances may be a _bit_ of an understatement,” Lauren said wryly.

Prompto made a noise similar to a boiling kettle.

“What if the two affected were of different species?” Sania hummed. “What if more than two could be affected simultaneously?”

“…I see your point, but… give them time.”

A silence fell on them. Then, Prompto clapped his hands.

“Right-o!” he chirped. “Sooooo how about we just all go back to our usual stuff?”

People started to leave after that. Iris and Gladio, both of them laughing, Prompto informing Ignis that they had an arm slung over the other’s shoulder as they left the house, a family united. Then Sania left, grumbling to herself, and the air felt refreshingly _dry_ as the croaks of her pets quietened into silence.

Lauren didn’t leave for a while. She helped herself to tea – herbal, piping hot – before telling Ignis in a cheery tone that she needed to speak to Prompto in private.

He gave them their privacy, and their talk must have been brief, for Lauren came in to hug him goodbye just as he had found the television remote. It had been tucked away underneath the coffee table, and _really_ , he knew that Gladio had probably put it there on purpose to be annoying.

“Look after yourself,” Lauren whispered in his ear as she squeezed tight. She planted her hands on his shoulders, the faint yet sweet scent of jasmine lingering from her touch. “You deserve it.”

Ignis nodded, stupefied. She squeezed again before letting go – Prompto made a squawk of a noise a few seconds later.

“I-I can’t feel my back!”

“Then I didn’t hug you hard enough,” came the smug reply. “Talk to you soon!”

The door clicked shut. Ignis heard a sigh, one more amused than exhausted, and then the gentle squeal of a tap being turned on. Swish of cloth, water droplets tapping the steel of the sink, then Prompto’s small grunt.

“Prompto, what are you _doing_?”

“Cleaning the table, duh.” The table had always been a bit wobbly, never able to stand flat against the tiles; it made loud rattling noises as Prompto ran the cloth over its surface. “You never know what kind of horrors frog feet could be concealing, just _waiting_ for the perfect time to attack!”

Ignis’s lips twitched. “It would be a shame,” he murmured, resting a hand on the chair. “For us to croak out after all we’ve been through.”

Silence, for a second, then Prompto made a shriek of a laugh; a wet cloth slapped Ignis’s hand, but he was sniggering too much for it to sting.

“I hate you sometimes,” Prompto sang, ringing out the cloth over the sink. “I actually. _Hate_ you.”

“Of course you do. Just promise me something?”

“…Yeah?”

“Never froggit that I could never hate you.”

Ignis burst into loud laughter at Prompto’s yell.

“No no no no NO!”

His yelling wasn’t enough to drown out the sudden ringtone from Ignis’s phone.

_“Incoming call from: Aranea.”_

“Huh?” Prompto’s voice was near his ear. “ _Aranea_?”

Ignis stepped away “Give me a moment, please.”

“Oh, sure.” Footsteps tapping past him. “I’ll, uh, tidy up the place a little.”

Once he was sure that Prompto had gone, Ignis sank into the chair. Fingers ghosted along the table, past crumbled newspapers and tiny scraps of food – he _hoped_. His nail ran over a sleek surface, with the same smoothness as plastic; he pulled it towards him.

“Moogle, accept call.”

 _“Kupo_!”

A few seconds of silence, then:

_“Hey. Scientia there?”_

“Indeed.”

A scoff. _“Back in your own body, huh?”_

“With no small thanks to you. Apologies for any inconvenience caused.”

 _“Yeah, you **really** need to apologise for that.” _ He could _hear_ her rolling her eyes. _“But sure, you can make it up to me. You’re free tomorrow, yeah?”_

“I… should be, yes.”

_“Meet up with me for a spar and I’ll forgive ya. It’s been weeks. I miss kickin’ your ass.”_

“As caring as ever, I see.”

_“Well, **someone’s** gotta do it. You know where the training grounds are. Meet me there at noon.”_

“Will do.” He smiled. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Aranea.”

 _“Can it, Iggy.”_ Her voice softened, just a smidgen. “ _Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”_

The phone beeped once, twice, then: _“Call has ended, kupo.”_

“Thank you, Moogle.”

_“You’re welcome, kupo!”_

He was left with silence, but only for a few seconds; there was a soft thump against the kitchen door.

“Hey,” Prompto’s voice, muffled. “Can I come in?”

“Yes.”

The door creaked open with another thud, most likely Prompto smacking it open with his leg.

“Kinda got my arms full with cups and stuff,” he said. Ignis thought about offering to help, but before he even had his hand fully raised, Prompto’s laughter ringed through the kitchen. “Nah, man, I’m not _that_ bad. Just warnin’ you to get outta the way; you know how clumsy I am.”

“Only in some areas.” Still, Ignis pulled himself to the side until his hand smacked the countertop. Clattering of ceramic and plastic against steel. “I’ll wash them.”

“But, the hot water—”

“Prompto. Before we lost magic, I set my hands and daggers on fire. A bit of hot water won’t do me any harm.”

He heard a mouth open, close, then a fond huff. “That, my good man, is a _very_ valid point.” A pause. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Alright then. Thanks.” He heard Prompto step away, felt him stop near him, but not too close. Shuffling of material. “So, uh.”

“What is it?”

A small laugh. “Always straight to the point, aren’t you?” His voice was fond. “Well, uh. Firstly; I’ve got your necklace. Want me to put it back on you?”

“I—” His hand darted to his neck, and _how_ could he forget? His fingers ghosted his collarbone. “…Please, if you’d be so kind.”

“Course. Turn around, to your left, just a bit.” Ignis did so, and thought about holding his hair up, but decided against it. He tipped his head down, exposing his neck, and a chill ran up his spine. He _despised_ being this vulnerable, even to the people he was closest to. How easy it would be, for someone to attack him, or to harm him, or—

A tip of cool metal rested on his neck, followed by fingertips that were almost as cold. “Gimme a sec…” Prompto murmured. He felt the latch come together, then Prompto stepped back and made a pleased sounding hum. “There!”

Ignis reached a finger up, and the relief that warmed all his bones upon feeling that familiar skull threatened to make his knees buckle. As it was, he smiled, tugging the skull to his collar and tucking the necklace underneath. “Thank you, Prompto. Dearly.”

“Hehe.” Prompto’s entire face was most likely scarlet red. “You’re welcome!”

“You said you had something else?”

“Oh yeah!” A light drumming of fingers against one another. “So, uh. Y’know what Sania was saying earlier? About naming the monster we saw?”

It took him a few seconds to recall, her words had been that insignificant. “I… vaguely, yes.” He made a small, amused laugh. “You were the first to see it. I believe it’s only fair if you get to name it.”

“You… sure?”

“Absolutely!”

“Thanks, dude!” Prompto made a little noise that suspiciously sounded like an “ _aw, yeah!”._ “So. I came up with this _totally_ awesome name. You wanna hear?”

“As though I have a choice.”

“Trust me, you’ll love it!” Prompto clapped his hands. “So! Y’know how it looked like a clown… but also a _snake_.”

“…Yes?”

Prompto’s voice deepened, becoming that of a television announcer, booming and playful. “So, after _much_ thought and time, I have decided to dub it… the ‘Clownake’.”

“Prompto.”

“Ignis.”

It took everything he had not to laugh. “Prompto, no.”

“Prompto, _yes_.” A satisfied whistle. “See? _Bam_. I am a _genius_.” A sharp clap. “You just can’t possibly _hope_ to comprehend my brilliance.”

“I think a toddler could understand it.”

Prompto gasped; a small thud, his hand most likely mockingly hitting his chest. “ _Ignis!_ I am _wounded_!”

“You’ll recover.”

“Anyway! I’ve got something to say to _you_ , young man.” Not a second later, Prompto burst out into laughter again. “I _can’t_.”

Ignis shook his head, amused. The warmth in his chest, budding, unfamiliar, was one he had long believed he could never feel again. Not after everything. His blindness. The decade of darkness. Noct’s death.

And yet…

“Where’d you get it from?”

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Ignis hummed. “Pardon?”

Prompto’s huff was more fond than aggravated. “The chocobo charm, dude.” A small _tap_ , most likely Prompto flicking a nail against the wooden design. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s great, but…”

“On my way here. Earlier.”

“ _Ohhhh_.”

“You had said before, that you no longer had a need for such ‘childish’ things,” Ignis started, and he could sense Prompto’s wince when his voice sharpened near the end of his sentence. “But I believe that if such things bring you happiness, who is anyone to call it childish?”

“It’s a charm, Iggy,” Prompto murmured. “It’s not that deep.” Despite his words, it would have been impossible to miss the warmth in his voice, the pleasant surprise. For once, there wasn’t that undertone of _‘I don’t deserve this, why are you being so kind?’_ , as if human kindness was such a foreign concept.

It was a step. Ignis smiled to himself.

“But thanks,” Prompto said. “I, uh, appreciate it. I’ll keep it.”

“I’m glad, then.”

A massive yawn, loud, engulfing, before Prompto snapped his jaw shut. “Anyways, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna head off now? Gotta do shopping and all that now that we’re in our actual bodies again.”

“Very well then.”

A door clicked open. “And, uh. Thanks, Iggy. For everything.”

“You’re more than welcome, Prompto.”

“Heh.” With that noise, softer than silk, the door creaked shut. “See ya later!” Prompto’s footsteps faded away.

Ignis listened, until he was certain that his friend was gone, then sighed and turned, bumping his arm on the countertop side. The pain of the sharp edge was nothing compared to the sudden twist in his heart.

 _No._ He wouldn’t allow himself to give into self-pity. Returning to blindness… it was the _right_ choice. It was what had to be done. The him from years ago would not have hesitated, would have not harboured any regrets, would have shoved down any emotions related to _his_ wants far, far away.

Now, though, he was not as selfless.

…Perhaps that wasn’t such an awful thing.

Sighing to himself, Ignis pushed himself off the counter and headed to where he knew the fridge was. Making food was going to be a struggle, but it was one that he could manage.

Just as he put his hand on the fridge door, he remembered the pile of dirty dishes, and his groan could have deafened a behemoth.

* * *

 

His phone clattered against the kitchen top, seconds before the automated voice – one that he hadn’t missed – spoke:

_“Incoming call from: Prom.”_

“Answer,” Ignis said. He turned down the heat on the daggerquill rice to shimmer and waited for the phone to process his request.

“ _Ignis?_ ”

“Prompto.”

Much too long, then: _“…Are you really..?”_

“After your graduation, all of us – us four, King Regis, and Iris – went to get ice-cream. You and…” He licked his lips, felt that scab shift. “…and Noct squabbled over the mint flavour, only for Gladio to get the final scope.”

 _“…Thanks_ ,” Prompto whispered. _“I’ll – I’ll get over that one day, I promise. I **will**.”_

“Take as long as you need, I don’t mind. Now; what did you call me for?”

 _“What,”_ Prompto teased, voice tight, _“can’t a guy just call to say hi?”_

“You hate calls.”

There was a lengthy silence, then a sigh:

“ _Ignis, what – why is there a selfie of **me** on the wall? One that I don’t remember taking?” _A pause. _“Or, uh, whatever you’d call it. I mean, **I** didn’t take it – does that make it an, I dunno, otherfie?”_

“Prompto.”

_“Okay, stupid name, I know. But… why’s it **there**?”_

His heart ached, briefly, at the disbelief in Prompto’s words. “If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t be calling me.”

Prompto sighed. Ignis heard paper shuffling; he hoped, dearly, that Prompto wasn’t removing the picture from the wall.

“ _…Why?”_

“I thought it quite absurd, that the most important person was missing from most of those photographs.”

 _“Most—“_ Prompto’s incredulous bark of laughter gritted Ignis’ ears. “ _You kiddin’?”_

“Without you, those photographs would not exist. Without you, it would be impossible to remember nearly as many good memories as we do. Without you, a significant number of those good memories simply would not have occurred for us _to_ remember.”

There was a long silence, punctuated only by Prompto’s heavy breathing. Ignis heard faint rustling. He could imagine it; Prompto, standing alone in that room, grasping the photograph of himself as the sunset filtered in through the murky window. It was… a harrowing image.

_“Anyone can take pictures, Iggy.”_

“No one else but you, Prompto.” He forced his hand to uncurl from the fist he couldn’t remember it making. “Surely you must understand where I come from, just a little.”

_“…I do, but… I just… **why?** ”_

How difficult, Ignis thought, more than a little bitterly, was it for Prompto to accept one small act of kindness without question? Why did he insist upon doubting and refusing every tiny generosity someone gave him? Just earlier on, with the charm, he had been fine; why did this doubt return _now_ , twice as severe as usual?

Ridiculous questions, indeed, as though Ignis didn’t know the answers through those damned dreams they had shared.

“I thought you could do with the reminder. We all could, from time to time.” Some more than others, perhaps, but that was a conversation for another day.

 _“Wait a sec, there’s something on the back…”_ More rustling, a small ‘pop’ of paper being removed from a sticky substance. A flip of the page; Ignis held his breath, and it would have been impossible to miss the small, strangled noise that caught in Prompto’s throat.

“ _This…”_

“Don’t ever doubt yourself, Prompto. Not when you have all of us at your side.”

“ _Ever at your side…_ ” Prompto murmured, voice more than a little bitter. More crinkling. _“Huh. I can do that.”_

“Prompto?”

 _“I’ll try,”_ he said, and for once, Ignis believed him. _“For you guys… and for myself. I’ll try.”_

“That’s all we could ask for.”

A soft exhale, then: _“Thanks, Ignis. For everything.”_

“I’ve hardly done much,” Ignis said with a curling smile. “You’ve done most of this yourself, Prompto.”

 _“Hehe, thanks.”_ His voice brightened. _“Well, enjoy your evening, Iggy!”_

He had half a mind to invite him over, and _Astrals,_ the words were ready to leap off his tongue, but he choked them down. “You as well, Prompto.”

_“See ya soon!”_

Buzzing came from the countertop. Smiling, Ignis shut his eye – then panicked and reached for the oven as soon as the acrid smell of burning assaulted his senses.

* * *

 

 _“You don’t need to train anymore,”_ Gladio had told him, voice thick with amusement when he had caught Ignis thumbing the leather handle of his knife. _“Take it easy, Iggy. Our days of fighting? They’re over.”_

“ _Someone_ ,” Aranea called, her voice barely audible over the ringing in Ignis’ ears. Even the slightest tilt of his head made him want to vomit.

A hand grasped his chin. Another grabbed his wrist and yanked him up. _Gods_ , the sadism in her voice; not even Gladio took this much sheer _glee_ at kicking another person’s behind. “Has been _slacking_.”

“I have been in a _different body_.”

“Excuses, excuses. Open your hands.” Not a second later, she shoved his spear at his chest; he barely caught it in time, sweaty fingers struggling with the wooden handle. “Go again.”

“But—”

“C’mon.”

Her heels – _heels_ , how did she wear _heels_ in combat? – clicked against the floor as she strode back with a confidence Ignis could only hope to one day possess.

“You seem better,” Aranea said, enough to give Ignis pause.

“Pardon?”

“C’ _mon_ , is anyone else in this room?” He didn’t need sight to perfectly vision her eyeroll. “You, Specs. _You_.”

“…In what way, exactly?”

“Hard to describe.” She hummed, most likely crossing her arms with her head tilted back. “Seems like you actually realise that you have worth outside of your ‘royal duties’.”

Ignis winced.

“I mean, it’s not great.” The scorn in her voice turned to a softness only he and a few others could claim to have ever heard. “But you’re goin’ in the right direction. Glad to see your friends finally knocked some sense into you.”

“…Is it that obvious?”

A snort. “Nah. I’m just used to analysing guys who don’t know the first thing about themselves. Have you _seen_ Biggs and Wedge?”

Ignis smirked. “Not for some time, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” Aranea’s voice was almost a cackle, “ _you_ —"

There was a gentle _whoosh_ ; Ignis jumped to his left. Aranea’s lance whizzed past him, close enough that he could _feel_ the air move around him.

She whistled. “Good, you’re still paying attention.”

Fast footsteps; Ignis brought his spear up. There was a loud crack; Aranea’s arm smacking off it. Not a second later, a hand thrust into his stomach. Wheezing at the sudden lack of air, Ignis slammed down and forced her arm off him. A small hollow noise; Aranea picking up her own weapon, most likely, before a smack to his head made him crumble again.

“Not bad,” she muttered. “Not bad at _all_.”

Ignis’s head was racing, his thoughts rattling too fast for them to make any sense at all.

“You’ve – you’ve asked about how I am?” he wheezed.

“… _Yeah_? And?”

“Are you not going to ask about Prompto?”

Aranea’s snort was loud. Ignis’s entire body was _screaming_ as she grabbed his wrist and yanked him back up. His shaking fingers clenched around his wooden spear. “Shortcake? _Please_. That kid can take care of himself better than you two ever could.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He’s never told you, has he? About what happened while he was separated from you guys?” Aranea sighed. Ignis imagined her tossing her hair back, arms crossed, nose held haughty. “Ain’t my place to say, but he showed more strength – emotional _and_ physical – than I’ve seen anyone else do. Kid’s more than fine. His worst enemy’s himself.”

A pause, then:

“Don’t tell him I said that,” she grumbled. “I’ll _never_ hear the end of it.”

“You’ve looked out for him a lot, haven’t you?”

“Course I have. _Someone_ had to, while y’all had your heads in your asses.”

Ignis’s next words were interrupted by the tapping of her javelin – the blunt end – against the ground. “Enough talk about _emotions._ They’re gross. Get ready.”

“You started it.”

“Eh.”

He panted. “…Not even a five minute break?”

“Hit me and I’ll let you break.”

Grinning, Ignis twirled the spear in his hands and dove in with a battle cry.

* * *

 

Gladio’s whistle echoed through the corridor as soon as Ignis wrestled the door open, every part of his body _aching_. “ _Astrals_ , what behemoth body-slammed you on your way back?”

Frantic feet tapped towards Ignis on the wooden boards. He heard Prompto stop a respectable distance away, felt him bundling with nervous energy.

“Aranea,” Ignis somehow mumbled around the swelling in his mouth. Gladio snorted. Prompto’s nerves evaporated into relief.

“Well, _that_ explains it,” Gladio said, grinning.

“Why are _you_ here?”

“Oh, so I get the interrogation while Prompto here gets off without a question?”

“Iggy likes me more!” Prompto chirped.

A chair leg scraped back, then the ruffling of a jacket—

“Heeeey, not the head! _Anywhere_ but the head!” Prompto wailed.

“Gladio, stop headlocking him.”

“ _I can’t breathe!”_ Prompto squeaked. “D-don’t make me unleash my awesome skills on you—“

Gladio snorted. “ _What_ awesome skills? From _you_?”

Ignis winced at the words, but never had the chance to give warning; faster than he could think, he heard Prompto grunt, then the slamming of bone against the table – hard. Prompto clapped his bare hands together, humming to himself, while Ignis heard Gladio hiss and moan. The table creaked.

“What the _hell_ , Prompto?”

“Remember when you shoved my face?”

“That was _years_ ago—“

“Yeah, well, you never apologised.” The grin in Prompto’s voice was evident. “Just think of that as a little payback!”

“When did you learn to do _that_?”

“What did he do?”

“Little brat wrestled himself out of a headlock. Smacked me right in the face.” Another small ruffling noise; Gladio, shuffling Prompto’s hair, judging from the whine the latter gave. “Who taught you that?”

“Aranea knows a _lot_ of good stuff.”

“Since when were you and her best buddies?”

Light tapping; Prompto, wagging a finger on his nose, most likely. “A-ha- _ah_ ; bit nosy, don’t ya think?”

“She’s like, ten years older than you.”

“We’re not dating!” Prompto squeaked. “She’s gay! And – and besides, I outgrew my crush like, _years_ ago.”

“No need to be so heteronormative, Gladio.”

Prompto snorted, small but high. He made an ‘oft!’ noise a second later; most likely Gladio resting an elbow on his shoulder. Ignis could picture it perfectly, from his raised bushy eyebrows to the twinkle of amusement in his tired eyes.

“What, someone else catch your fancy?”

“N- _no_!”

“C’mon, you can tell us who.”

“I can’t – I-I mean, there _isn’t_ anyone!”

“Said in the exact tone of someone who _definitely_ has someone.” Ignis didn’t need vision to imagine the giant smile splitting Gladio’s face; it was evident in his voice. “C’mon, at least admit that there _is_ someone.”

“There isn’t!” Prompto squawked, then quietened. “Not someone who’d… who’d like _me_ , anyway. Not even as a friend.”

“What makes you so sure of that, huh?” A light shove. “I like you plenty. So does Iggy, and Lauren, and Iris, and Aranea, and Cindy, and Cor, and—“

“I get it, I get it!” Prompto squeaked.

“Just your anxiety kickin’ in, kiddo. Kick it back. We love you loads.”

Prompto huffed. Ignis moved closer.

“ _Still_.” Prompto announced, with a soft repeated thud. “I’m positive.”

“Uh-huh. Stop prodding my chest, then.”

The thuds stopped.

There was silence, but only for a few seconds; in a blink of an eye, Prompto’s boots scuffled against the tiles, tapping before he sighed.

“I’m gonna go grab stuff for dinner. Back in a few!”

Footsteps tapped against the flooring, too fast for Ignis to speak, and a door some distance away – the front, most likely – slammed shut.

Gladio made a fond noise. Clothing crinkled – him crossing his arms, most likely – and the kitchen countertop groaned.

“Stop leaning against that,” Ignis said, but his voice was more fond than accusatory. “People cook there.”

“Yes, sir,” Gladio replied with equal amusement. He didn’t move.

“…We don’t need anything for dinner, do we?”

“No, we do not.”

Ignis couldn’t help his smile, and he knew that the same held true for Gladio. “Honestly…”

Shifting of leather against the counter. “…He’s doing okay, isn’t he?”

“Prompto?”

“Who _else_?” Gladio grumbled. Intending to sound annoyed, most likely, but the words only came out fond. “You know I’m right.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s a relief, though.” Gladio sighed. “I was…” Hand running through his hair. “I was gettin’ worried, for a bit. For you, too, but… he wasn’t doing good. At _all_.”

“And now?”

“…Better.”

Ignis smiled. “I think so too.”

A door slammed open again. “I forgot my wallet!” came Prompto’s wail. He sprinted into the kitchen, footsteps smacking against the floor. “Big guy, gimme some of your money!”

“Not a chance!” Shuffling—

“C’moooo _oooon_ , get down from your tip-toes and give me your wallet!”

“Like you could reach even if I was squatting.”

“Shudd _uppp_.” Prompto’s feet both pounded the ground simultaneously, again and again.

“Stop _jumping_!” Gladio shouted, trying and failing not to laugh. “Jeez, you _are_ one short kid, aren’t you?”

“I’m not a kid!” A pause. “Or short!”

“Uh huh. What kind of adult tries to steal another adult’s wallet, huh?”

“The kind of adult with the _bestest_ of friends?”

“Oh, so _now_ you bring out the sweet talking?” Ignis could have sworn he _felt_ Gladio’s deep rumble of a laugh vibrate around him. “Alright, short stuff, let’s haul ass to the nearest store.” A hand slapped Ignis’s shoulder. “C’mon, Iggy.”

Ignis blinked. “I’m coming?”

“Wait, you want _all_ of us to go?” Prompto sounded utterly _lost_. “But – uh—”

“I’m a disaster in the kitchen, and you ain’t much better.” Gladio patted Ignis’s back, gently pushing him forward. “Need Iggy to make sure we don’t poison ourselves, ya hear? Tonight, we are going to _feast_.”

Prompto whooped. Ignis couldn’t help his exasperated smile. “ _Honestly_ , you two.”

“Eh.” Gladio shrugged. “You love us.”

“For some reason, yes. Madly.”

* * *

 

The next few days, all things considered, passed with remarkable normalcy, as though nothing had ever changed. The world carried on. Nothing from Prompto, nor from Gladio or anyone else that Ignis knew. He would have almost believed that they had been thrown back into eternal darkness, were it not for the warmth prickling his skin in the morning as he threw open the curtains, of the muted greys that stretched across what he could qualify as vision.

Then, he heard a rasp of a knock on his door. Frowning, Ignis found the volume knob on the radio and muted it, ambling over to the door.

He knew who it was before he creaked the door open. A foot pitter-pattered soft thuds on the welcome mat Gladio had picked out for Ignis. Breathing that came a bit too fast and a bit too shallow to be normal.

He frowned.

“Is everything alright?”

Prompto didn’t say anything at first. Wordlessly, he burst past Ignis, still careful to not bump into him. Ignis heard boots smack against the wood.

“Prompto,” Ignis said, voice firmer than before. “Talk to me.”

“Call Noct.”

It was as though he’d been sucker punched. “I – _pardon_?”

“Just do it!” Prompto snapped. Footsteps thudded away towards the kitchen, softer than ones with boots. “Where’s your phone?”

“Not before you calm down and _explain_ to me what is happening.”

“Ju – just call it, _please_ ,” his voice broke on the last word, anger dropping faster than quicksilver. “I – it’s not just me, right?”

“I doubt Noct could ignore a call from you while he’s dead,” Ignis said wryly. For a second, he could hear Noct’s snort, feel the fist on his shoulder nudging him playfully—

But that was a lifetime ago. No point dwelling on such memories now.

 _Surely_ , though, it wouldn’t be bad for him to think about the positives? To think of Noct’s smile, of his snorting, wheezing laughter, of his _happiness_ , from before the fall of kingdoms and war and everything else that had happened to them all.

“I-Iggy?”

Ignis’s hand rested on Prompto’s elbow. Shaking, the tiniest of amounts.

“Sit down on the sofa. I’ll bring you in water, and then we can attempt his number.” He tried for a smile in his friend’s direction, hand drifting off his bare arm. “Is that satisfactory?”

“Y-yeah. Thanks.”

He brought in the water in record speed. Prompto didn't touch it. Ignis brought out his phone, throat feeling as though coarse sandpaper had been scrubbed on his insides.

“Moogle—” Ignis swallowed—“call Noct.”

_“Calling Noct, kupo!”_

One beep, the next higher, the third one higher again, then:

_“Sorry – the number you have dialled has not been recognised. Please try again.”_

Ignis wet his suddenly dry lips. Beside him, the sofa squeaked.

“Moogle, end—”

“You _definitely_ dialled the right number, right?”

“Are you implying I saved Noct’s number as incorrect?” he said, voice a good bit sharper than he had intended. He could _feel_ Prompto shrinking back on the sofa. “For at least _fifteen_ years?”

“N-no, I, just.”

He sighed.

_“Please dial another number.”_

“Moogle, end call.”

_“Kupo!”_

“I think it’s obvious. They’ve discontinued his number.” Ignis sighed. “Truthfully, I’m surprised that the network held up for that long, even more so that they saved a person’s number for ten years.”

“Well, y’know, he _was_ the prince.” Prompto shifted, fingers drumming. “Probably got special privileges and stuff.”

“Indeed.” No one had known that he had been fated to pass, after all (well, apart from him, but Ignis would take that fact with him to his grave). And keeping his number active… was probably an act of comfort to them all. A small, if meaningless, hope that he was still alive.

The world was moving on. And, slowly, so were they.

“Do you think I should…” Prompto’s voice trailed off. There was a gentle squeezing noise; his fingers clenching around his mobile, most likely. “Delete it?”

“His number?”

“I mean… he’s kinda. Y’know.” Prompto’s laugh was strained. “Dead.”

“And what benefits would you stand to gain from deleting his number?”

Prompto’s shrug was audible. “Shows I’m moving on? Not stuck in the past? I don’t know. Some kind of symbolic crap.”

“Do you _want_ to, though?”

“I…”

“Give it thought,” Ignis said, when it was clear that Prompto didn’t plan to continue speaking. “I, for one, plan to keep it in my contacts. Hardly see the point in deleting it.” He snorted. “Not as though I am _swarming_ in contacts of people desperate to talk to me.”

“Ditto here, man.” Prompto sighed. “I’ll, uh, give it thought. Like you said. Thanks, Iggy.”

“You’re welcome.”

Silence, for a few seconds, then the tapping of fingers and a shift of material:

“Anyway.” Prompto’s fingers continued to drum, a constant tap-tap-tap that was almost comforting in its familiarity. “Can we go to the park nearby? I, uh. I fancy a walk.”

“And a talk?”

Prompto’s laughter rung high. “Aww, jeez, that obvious?”

“Only because I know you.”

“Yeah, which _sucks_.” The drumming stopped. “But yeah.”

“I’d like that.”

“Alright then, let’s go.”

* * *

 

It was an area at the base of where Ignis had seen his final sunset. Not a place he had seen, not with how eager Prompto had been to take him to the heights, but it was easy enough to imagine what a typical park would look like. Benches scattered about a path, the shouts and joy of children playing on the toys, the darkened shadows of tall, mighty trees. He was impressed, truthfully, that there _were_ any trees that had managed to survive Insomnia’s fall, but the cool shade he felt on his face was proof enough.

There was a bench behind them, forgotten; Ignis knew that much from having walked into it when they had arrived. The railing they were standing at, Prompto had said, overlooked the small play area for the children.

Silence hung, as lofty as the trees above, before he heard his companion sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Prompto began, “for not being there. At the anniversary.”

“No need for apologies. You had prior engagements, correct?”

“Yeah.” He heard Prompto swallow, a gentle rustle of paper. “I, uh, met up with Lauren. She insisted on it.”

“Gladio’s wife?”

“The one and only.”

“Thankfully.”

Chuckling quietly, Prompto leaned on the railing, judging from its quiet creak. The gentle crinkles of him unfolding the page echoed. “She gave me a list of every practicing therapist currently within Insomnia. Said that she had to do _something_. And when she talked to me, after we swapped our bodies back to normal – she was just makin’ sure I still had it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. That date was the only day she had free for _weeks_ , and…” Prompto sighed. “She said she wanted to get to me before it was too late.”

There was a long, painful silence. The railing creaked; Prompto was most likely leaning on it, staring down at his clenched hands, gnashing his teeth together.

“Too late for what?” Ignis eventually dared to ask.

In that moment, he could imagine Prompto’s side-eye glance to him perfectly; long lashes narrowed, blond at the tips, bushy eyebrows raised.

“Do I _really_ need to say it?”

He didn’t. Ignis crossed his arms and leaned back, shuffling back slightly when he realised that the railing was further away than he had anticipated. He let out a quiet sigh of relief when his hip bumped against the cool metal. Nearby, he could hear the laughter of children, perhaps the most innocent sound known to humankind, and swings groaning and slides being slipped on. Most of them had survived the ten awful years, somehow, and the fall of Insomnia before that.

Prompto shuffled. “Anyway. I, uh, I gave it a read, and…” He trailed off, making a pained groan of a noise deep in his throat. “…I might start seeing one. A therapist, I mean.”

Ignis tilted his head, smiling. It was impossible not to, not with the warmth blossoming in his heart along with the sunlight shining down on them both. A chill of air assaulted them as a car drove past behind them. The children’s laughter heightened into squeals and screams.

“Don’t ruin my sandcastle! I’ll tell Mummy!”

“I made an appointment for next week. Next Tuesday,” Prompto whispered, every word sounding as though someone had forced it out of his lungs.

“I’m proud of you,” Ignis said, and it was nothing but the truth. “It’s difficult, reaching out.”

“I _thought_ that I was doing okay, y’know?” The railing squeaked. “That I was fine. But during those ten years, we didn’t have _time_ to focus on the past. I didn’t dwell on anything because I _couldn’t_.” Prompto’s boots shuffled as he stepped back, mostly flashing a sheepish grin at Ignis. “Had to stay alive for when Noct came back, you know?”

“Indeed I do.”

“But _now_ , with all of this free time… I dunno, Everything just – kinda hit me. But you guys seemed to be doing fine; Gladio was getting _married_ , you were moving on…”

Ignis snorted.

Prompto laughed quietly. “I _thought_ you were, okay, cut me some slack.” There was a long silence, then a quiet: “If we hadn’t swapped bodies, I don’t think I’d be doing this. I’d still be in denial, probably, still insisting that I was okay.” An even longer silence followed: “…Until I could finally stop lying. Finally stop doing _anything_.”

Ignis’s breath caught in his throat. “You – you weren’t…”

“I dunno what I’m thinking most of the time, to be honest. Apart from telling my brain to shut up.” Prompto sighed and pushed himself off the railing again. “And I _know_ that a therapist isn’t going to magically fix all of… _this_. Everything that’s messed me up. But… it’s a start, right?” He asked, and for a moment, his voice was so young, so _hopeful,_ and Ignis’s heart ached briefly for those ancient days. “It’s okay to reach out… to admit that, yeah, maybe things aren’t as good as you want them to be. That shoving down all the bad memories isn’t gonna make them disappear. That you can’t keep pretending to be happy all the time, no matter how bad you feel.”

“Of course it is.” Ignis stretched out his hand and made to rest it on Prompto’s shoulder, finding it first time. He squeezed. “Of _course_ it is.”

Prompto let out a shuddering breath, his shoulders tensing. “Thanks, Iggy. Really. I – I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“Not had to experience blindness, perhaps?”

That tore a high, unexpected laugh from Prompto. “Not had the realisation that it’s okay to _not_ be okay.”

“You’re not…”

“Yeah?” Prompto prompted.

Shaking his head, Ignis let go of Prompto’s shoulder, letting it dangle at his side. “You’re not doing this because anyone else has insisted on it, have you? Gladio can get rather… aggressive, I know.”

“Nah, don’t worry about that.” Prompto’s voice became quiet. “This is what _I_ want to do.”

“I’m glad.”

Ignis made to pull away; a silent signal to walk back, perhaps. But Prompto’s voice, unwavering in the gentle breeze, gave him pause.

“Hey. Iggy?”

“Yes?”

“I’m…” Prompto made a nervous laugh. “I’m proud of you too, y’know? For what it’s worth. And I know I’m not the only one.”

“Proud of me?” Ignis arched an eyebrow, trying to keep his voice cool, but he could _feel_ the blush flaring up his ears already, damn it all. He could only hope that his cheeks weren’t as evident. “For what, pray tell?”

“I dunno. Just proud in general, I guess. For the same kind of stuff you said.” He could _hear_ Prompto’s smile in his voice. “We’ve come a long way in – what, a month? Less than that?”

“More than we have in ten years?”

Prompto’s laugh was more like a cackle. “ _Honestly?_ Honestly. Where is the _lie?_ ” His voice sobered. “Nah, but seriously, Iggy. I’m proud. You’re doing good.”

“I…” Ignis smiled, not sure of what else he _could_ say. Not without his words tangling themselves into knots at least. “Thank you, Prompto.”

Laughing, Prompto elbowed Ignis’s ribs. “Anyway, we got a cat to get. Monica said something about you adopting a kitten?”

“Ah, yes. Mr. Stripey.”

“Mister _what_ now?”

“He is a beautiful cat.”

Prompto was still laughing. “Sure, _sureeee_.”

“You’ll love him.”

“As much as I love you guys? Impossible.”

Ignis smiled.

Things weren’t perfect, far from it, but with every new beginning came a new hope, a new promise for a better tomorrow.

And, for the first time in what must have been years, Ignis believed it. After all, he had the rest of his life to make every day better than the last. There was no prophecy to hold them down, no fate to obey, no gods to despise.

“What’re you smiling about?” Prompto asked, sounding more joyous than Ignis had heard from him in years.

“What is there to _not_ smile about?” he replied, and Prompto’s ringing laughter was a melody in his ears.

“Yeah,” Prompto agreed, tightening his arm around Ignis’s own. “You’re right.”

They would live. They would grieve, they would breathe, they would laugh, for the people who could not any longer.

It would not be easy. It would not be kind.

But – well. They had the rest of their lives to figure out what living meant for each one of them. They had as long as they needed to find their place in the family of things.


End file.
